Dreaming
by GirlDrinkDrunk
Summary: Dean accidentally discovers that Sam shares his feelings. Or maybe it's not an accident, after all.
1. Chapter 1

Lying on his stomach, with his hands tucked under the pillow, Dean opens his eyes half way, noticing the glare from the streetlight coming through the narrow gap in the curtains. He doesn't know what time it is but he's pretty sure it's early in the a.m.

At this time of the night, he expects all to be quiet, and it is. Almost. He's not sure he heard it at first, so he remains still and strains to listen. There. In a matter of seconds, he realises exactly what it is he's hearing. Dean smirks. _My baby brother's getting himself off_. Then, that realisation kicks him in the ass, as he goes from zero to hard in ten seconds flat. _Wrong, sick, and fucked up, Dean_. As much as he'd like to explain it away by reminding himself that he hasn't been with anyone in over three months, he knows better. He knows that this isn't the first time Sam's made him hard. It's not even the twentieth time. His history of depravity goes back awhile. So, although he'd like nothing more than to roll onto his back right now and mirror Sam's actions, he knows he's stuck in this position; not even allowed to thrust down into the mattress for fear of Sam stopping and depriving him of his sick fantasy.

The only thing he can do is listen to his brother's quiet, gasping breaths; his low, urgent moans. Dean imagines Sam's big hand around his swollen length, fisting himself firmly, squeezing and twisting and rubbing, thrusting up into his hand.

Just as he bites his lip to stop himself from groaning out loud, he hears a word that freezes him even more completely: "Dean."

The soft, breathy, needy way Sam says his name makes him want to whimper with frustration. _What does that mean? Does he want me, sexually? Is he wondering what it'd be like to have my hand on his cock? My mouth? Or does he know I'm listening?_

"Oh…oh Dean…so good." Sam's words are whispered but they carry to Dean's straining ears.

_Okay, there's no mistaking that. He wants me. What the fuck do I do? If I let him know I'm awake, he'll freak_.

"God…mmmm…wanna fuck your mouth."

Dean bites back a groan at those dirty words. _This is so wrong. This can't be happening. Please, God, kill me now_. _Big brothers don't get hard listening to their little brothers jacking off. They throw a pillow at them, or videotape them, or something. Doesn't matter that Sam was moaning my name. It's wrong. Snap the fuck out of it_.

Berating himself, however, doesn't seem to have much of an effect, if his painfully hard cock is any judge; and it usually is. Then, belatedly registering something different, he fights to clear his head for a moment. For some reason, he initially assumed that Sam was awake. Now he's not so sure. Sam's voice rose a little louder with his last comment. Slowly, Dean dares to lift his head from the pillow and turns to face Sam.

Fortunately – or unfortunately – he can't make out anything but Sam's vague silhouette in the darkness. Further testing his theory, he swings his legs to the side of the bed and sits up, facing Sam. No startled movements. "Sam," Dean whispers, just loud enough that he'd only hear it if he was awake.

Sam next words are mumbled, before Dean clearly hears, "Yeah. Suck."

Those words, as well as the soft groan that follows, propel Dean off the bed to pace near the door. Finally, he picks up his keys as quietly as possible and, as an afterthought, the t-shirt he wore yesterday, lying on top of his duffel. Unlocking and opening the front door, he walks outside, takes deep breaths of the cool air, and gets in the back seat of the car. "Holy Mother of JESUS!" He says aloud. He shakes his head as he leans back. Almost immediately, Dean pushes his boxers down and grasps his cock. Slowly stroking his hardness, he closes his eyes and gives in to the fantasies plaguing his mind. Handling himself firmly, he creates a punishing rhythm and guiltily pictures Sam between his legs, swallowing him down. "Oh God Sammy...I want you so much," he says, sadly. Thankfully, it isn't long before Dean feels the signs of release. "Sam…ooh, Sammy, yeah!" With that, Dean picks up his t-shirt, wraps it around the head of his cock, and comes with a growl, pumping his seed into the fabric. A minute later, and his breathing has returned to semi-normal. Only then does he open his eyes again.

Dean sits in the car for another five minutes, realising that he can't sleep out here without raising a question from Sam. With a sigh, he gets out of the car, locks her up, and walks back inside.

As far as he can see, Sam still seems to be asleep. _And quiet, thank the Lord_. Stuffing his t-shirt into a plastic bag with all his other dirty laundry, Dean walks across the room and into the bathroom, nearly closing the door before switching on the light. He runs the water in the sink and rinses his face. Looking up into the mirror, his reflection looks miserable for someone who just came five minutes ago. He sighs, turns away from the mirror to dry his face, and turns off the light.

As Dean gets into bed, he lies on his back and pleads with anyone who's listening to let him fall asleep quickly. Just as he feels himself relax, Sam speaks.

"Y'know, you should really learn to roll the windows up in the car all the way, Dean. Anyone could walk by."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean freezes. _What the…?!_ _Shit, shit, and double shit._ He can't speak. What the hell would he say, anyway?

Sam can't see Dean, but he knows he's panicking right now. Talking in the dark, he says, "It's okay, Dean, I've suspected for a little while. I just needed to know for sure."

As Dean's mouth moves, trying to form actual words, realisation hits him. "You," he forces out, "you…were _awake_ before? That was a _trick_? Just to see how I'd react?"

"Well, when you say it like that, it _does_ sound a little manipulative."

"Ya _think_?"

"Come on, Dean, you were never gonna admit it to me, otherwise. Now I've got an honest answer. Plus, it wasn't like I was being totally dishonest; you provide me with plenty of good masturbation images to choose from. I was just thinking about one of them at the time."

"Sam, stop! This is wrong. It's…it's so _wrong_. Let's just roll over and try and get some sleep. Then, in the morning, we can put it behind us."

Sam tries not to smirk, even if Dean can't see. "Your choice of words is very…interesting, Dean."

"Wha…?" Then… "Jesus, Sam!"

Sam sighs heavily, and sits up to turn on the bedside lamp. "Dean," he says, looking at his brother, lying on his back, with the sheet and blanket pushed down.

Before Sam can utter another word, Dean stops him, refusing to look at anything but the ceiling. "No, Sam," he says forcefully, "we're not talking about this. We're gonna forget the last twenty minutes ever happened. Now let me get some sleep." He turns over to lay on his stomach, and faces the window. He only then realises that his words would've had more of the impact he was hoping for if he wasn't lying there with only his boxers on, showing the fact that he was still half-hard from his previous activity. _I'm begging you, Sam, please don't say any more. Let's just bury this in the big hole of things-we-can't-have._

"Sorry, Dean, but I'm not prepared to let this go. We're gonna deal with this _now_."

Dean sighs loudly. "One more word, Sam, and I'm gonna beat the crap outta you."

Knowing that when Dean feels cornered, he either lashes out or walks away, Sam – wisely – believes his threat. As a result, Sam decides to take the option away from him.

Before Dean knows what's happening, he has the full weight of Sam's body pushing him into the mattress. "Sam! What the fuck!?" With his torso completely immobilised, he can't even turn over to wrestle Sam off of him. _That's probably a good thing, though, seeing as though my treasonous cock likes this way too much_.

With his hands on the back of Dean's shoulders, Sam leans down a little and speaks softly. "If hitting me makes you feel better…fine…but I get to say something first."

"Sam…please…we haven't officially crossed any lines; we can forget this ever happened. We _need_ to forget this." He sighs again and tries to reason. "We've got bigger things to worry about right now."

"Nothing that happens between us, Dean, is going to make our job any harder to do." Sam waits for Dean's argument. When he realises Dean isn't going to answer, he tries to bait him to talk. At least if Dean talks about it, he's acknowledging the elephant in the room. "Not even a word of argument. You must know I'm right."

Deciding that anger is a better emotion to work with than fear or weakness, Dean goes for the throat. "You want a word, Sam? How about incest? How's that for a start? I'll give you another one: brothers. Y'know, I'm a sick freak for wanting something I can't have, but you're sicker than I am if you think we _can_ have it. Now get the fuck off me."

"In a minute. I'm not letting you up until you know how I feel."

"I get it, Sam."

"If you keep interrupting me, this is gonna take longer," Sam replies calmly.

Finally, Dean drops his shoulders and gives in. "Fine. Say it."

Sam speaks gently, but with conviction. "I've wanted you since I was seventeen. At the time, I explained it away as a phase, or raging hormones, and I thought that going to Stanford would cure me." He scoffs, wryly. "It didn't work. I realised, instead, that what I felt wasn't just sexual; I loved you. And now, after hearing what you said in the Impala, before, I know that it's not just sexual for you, either."

"Jesus, Sammy, it doesn't matter; it's wrong. With a forty-foot high capital W."

"You know what? I don't think it _is_ wrong for us. If there's an exception to the rule, we're it. And I think, if you let yourself have what you want, you'd feel the same way."

Dean doesn't say anything for a minute. Then, quietly, he says, "Can you let me up now?"

As Dean can't see him, Sam shows the disappointment on his face. "Yeah," he says, resigned. With that, he slides his hands from Dean's shoulders, down his back, as he sits up again, and then climbs off Dean's legs and off the bed.

Not wasting any time, Dean lifts himself and gets off the bed to put his jeans on, facing away from Sam. As he's pulling on a clean t-shirt, he grabs his keys and makes his way to the door. Before he reaches for the doorknob, he stops but doesn't turn around. "I'll be back in a few hours. I'll bring breakfast."

Sam watches him walk out the door, and sits on his bed when he hears the car roar to life.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean spends the next two and a half hours in the Impala, driving for most of that time. A good thirty minutes, however, was spent pulled over on the wide shoulder of the only road out of town, where he sat, obsessing over the reasons he couldn't let himself have what he really wanted. The same thing that Sam said he wanted, and –seemingly - didn't have any qualms about.

Now, parking the car outside the diner they ate at yesterday, Dean shuts off the engine but doesn't immediately go inside. He's still not ready to face Sam again, so he decides not to let their breakfast go cold in the car while he's talking himself into going back to the motel.

Slouching a little in the seat, he props his elbow on the open window and runs his hand back and forth through his hair_. I have to tell Sam that I need some time to think. It'd be no good telling him outright that it can't happen; Sam wouldn't accept that. Stubborn bastard. Better to let him believe that I'm actually thinking about it. Yeah._

Twenty minutes later, Sam hears the rumble of the Impala as he's doing up his shirt buttons. Running his fingers through his damp hair, he sits down on his bed and reaches for his shoes.

Dean takes a breath before opening the door. His face already schooled into an air of casualness, he walks over the threshold and straight to the counter of the kitchenette to put down their breakfast. Managing not to look at Sam directly, he says, "Got you a latte, Francis, and a bagel."

A corner of Sam's mouth turns up fractionally at Dean's good-natured insult. "Thanks."

Taking his own bagel and coffee over to the table under the front window, Dean then sits on his bed – facing away from Sam – and packs his stuff. "Have you been on the laptop looking for another job?"

"No," Sam replies, moving over to stand at the counter. Picking up his cup, he removes the lid and takes a sip. "I was sleeping 'til about thirty minutes ago."

For some reason, that slightly irritates Dean. _Great. While I've been obsessing, he's been sleeping_. Stomping on that train of thought, simply to prevent either of them from having to talk about 'it', Dean returns to the conversation. "Well, open it up, Sammy; we need to know which direction to take from here." With his bag packed, and gun resting on top, he reaches over for his bagel. Unwrapping it, he realises that he hasn't heard Sam or the laptop, and turns his head to look behind him. He finds Sam leaning against the counter, looking at him. _I know that look. Jeez_. He pretends to misread Sam's expression. "Fine; _I'll_ do it. I just gotta eat first, though. I know how you like a greasy keyboard."

"Dean…"

_Here it comes. _

"Can we just talk about what happened this morning?"

Facing away from Sam again, Dean closes his eyes, briefly. "Not yet," he says after a moment. "Just let me think about it, okay? And I don't mean a couple of hours. Just…can ya give me some time?"

Sam is silent for a few seconds. "Yeah," he replies simply. Looking down, he remembers his breakfast and takes a bite, before retrieving the laptop.

……………

Fifteen minutes later, Dean is channel flicking to pass the time, having already thrown their bags into the trunk. "Daytime TV sucks ass," he says with a sigh.

"Then turn it off," Sam answers, distracted.

"There's nothing else to do until you find us a direction."

"Well, then, grab your keys 'cause I think I've found something. Listen to this.

_'__Baton Rouge. Police were called to Chateau Louisiane last night in response to a 911 call. A maid discovered a male guest dead in his room, allegedly hanging from the window's curtain rod. Staff stated that he arrived Monday and didn't leave his room at all during his stay. It was also alleged that when he checked in, he asked that the phone in his room be removed. Witnesses in neighbouring rooms stated hearing the man's raised voice on more than one occasion but, to their knowledge, did not have any guests in his room. One witness said the manner of death seemed strange. "For a man who supposedly hanged himself, there sure was a lot of blood on the carpet. It just didn't add up, you know." No statement has been made from the local authorities at this time as to cause of death__._'"

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Could just be a plain, run-of-the-mill murder, or even suicide, but it's worth checking out. How far to Baton Rouge?"

"Hang on." Sam searches online. "Ten hours," he answers, looking up at Dean.

Taking a breath, and swinging his feet off the bed, Dean jingles the keys. "Come on."

……………

The roar (or purr, if you ask Dean) of the engine and the other traffic on the road can't compete with the silence between them in the car and, soon, their internal conflict and debate all but block everything else out.

Sam broods. He knows what he wants is all kinds of wrong, in everyone else's eyes but his own. Normally, he wouldn't condone incest at all, but 'everyone' and the Winchesters didn't always ride the same bus. It's right for _them_. He just doesn't know how to make Dean see it, too. He thinks back to a few hours ago. Before he opened the motel room door, he went to the window and inched the curtain back,

trying to see Dean's reaction to his performance, hoping that he'd had the effect he was hoping for. It _was_ a little manipulative, but he's okay with that. He never expected to see Dean – dimly lit by the light over their front door - get into the car, close his eyes, and proceed to give Sam one of his fantasies. Unable to stop himself, he quietly opened the door, stepped out, and didn't make a sound as he watched his brother fist his cock, thrusting up into his hand, and showing Sam – with actions and words – how much Dean wants him. _Damn it, Dean. If we both want this, it's not wrong._

Dean internalises and compartmentalises. Incest goes in the 'wrong' box, and no discussion can make it different. He almost smiles at his selective morality; the line he draws in the sand. Everything he's done so far in his life, he's been able to reason away; explain to another's satisfaction. Apart from the women, it's all been about the job, and about family. Family. And what happens when the only blood family you have left wants to cross that line? Not just cross it, but blow it up, like it was never there. Like it's okay to want to fuck your little brother. _It doesn't matter what I want; what Sam wants; it just can't happen_. A second later, he groans inwardly. _Now my cock wants in on the discussion. Terrific_.


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is longer than the preceding chapters. Just so you're aware. **

**As always, feedback is encouraged.**

………………..

Six hours later, Dean pulls into a gas station and, as Sam stands at the pump, he walks inside and heads straight for the coffee machine. Extracting the right change from his pocket, he presses his selection and waits for both cups to fill. On the way back to the front doors, he grabs two pre-packaged rolls and heats them up in the nearby microwave, browsing the conveniently placed adult magazines while he waits. As Dean approaches the register, he notices the woman behind the counter and raises an eyebrow in appreciation. Immediately after, though, he realises what he's doing and decides not to pursue that line of thought. _Do something enough times and you start believing it._

The woman has other ideas, and tries to engage him in conversation. "Hi," she says as he places the coffees and rolls on the counter.

"Hi," he responds, with a warm smile.

"Just the rolls?"

"And the gas for pump four."

As she rings up the purchase, she looks back to Dean, and says with a false innocence, "Are you sure I can't get you anything else?"

Dean smiles. "Yeah."

She raises her eyebrows. "Pity." Then she turns and looks back out the window at the pumps. Looking back at Dean and motioning with her head, she asks, "He your boyfriend?"

Dean looks out and sees Sam. Feeling a little reckless, and quickly taking the opportunity to say it out loud, just once, without repercussion, he looks back at the woman and nods his head. "Yeah."

She shakes her head slightly. "Damn shame," she says with a rueful smile.

Dean pays for the food and gives her a wink as he turns. Walking back outside, he is just in time to see Sam get sucker-punched in the kidneys. Sam drops to his knees beside the car. Dean drops his supplies and yells, "HEY!" in his deep, don't-mess-with-me voice. Sam's attacker, as well as his friend, turn to Dean.

"Oh look, we've got ourselves a challenger. You gonna be a hero, man?" Sam's assailant, a tall, twenty-something man of average build, with an inflated sense of importance, spreads his arms and mocks Dean.

Dean stalks towards them as Sam gets to his feet. Dean watches Sam and sees the change in his face, as well as the set of his body.

Sam walks slowly and casually towards his attacker and stares him down. "Leave." It was said quietly, but not many people could miss the menace in it.

Asshole #1 is slow to perceive the threat, and grins. "You gonna make me, pretty boy?"

Sam rolls his eyes and sighs, looking over to Dean.

Dean shrugs, with the ghost of a smile.

Sam looks back to the guy in front of him. "Look, I haven't got time for this. Just get in your Barbie car and leave," he says, referring to the Honda the men are driving.

Dean raises his eyebrows at Sam's trash talk. Maybe there _is_ time for this.

Asshole #2 decides that he wants to get in on this action, and makes a show of the switchblade he acquired from his back pocket.

Dean starts to close in at this point, and focuses on the blade. He still tries to keep it fairly casual. "Look, you really don't want to do this. Right now you're a little liquored-up and you think you're bullet proof. But quit while you're ahead, okay? And by that, I mean not bleeding."

"Aww, hero doesn't want any trouble," Asshole #1 goads.

Dean smiles. "Actually, I'd like nothing better than to give you some trouble, but we've got somewhere to be, so I haven't got time."

"You're not going anywhere, but _we_ will be when we take your car."

Dean laughs out loud, and then looks to Sam. Sam reads Dean's subtle expression and nods, very slightly.

Sam then walks straight up to Asshole #1 and hits him. Sam's punch is hard and fast and the man isn't prepared. He falls back, too stunned to brace himself, and lands heavily on the edge of the Honda's hood, before sliding awkwardly to the ground, dazed.

At the same moment, Dean rushes Mr Switchblade and, dodging a lunge with the knife, punches him square in the nose. The man's head is knocked to the side and he fights to keep his footing as he is propelled back a step. His hand automatically lifts to his face, and his eyes go wide as he looks at the bloody evidence of a suspected broken nose. While the man is off-balance, Dean's fist makes contact again, this time to his eye, and watches as he falls back onto the ground. The knife clatters to the ground and both men scramble for it. Wrestling on the ground, the would-be car thief manages to get on top of Dean, briefly, but long enough to slam Dean's head on the concrete a few times. The man quickly releases Dean and is the first to reach the knife. Dean, trying to clear his vision, gets to his feet quickly as the other man wields the knife in front of him, swinging it across Dean's path. He has to jump back to avoid the blade. His attacker slashes the knife back and forth, lunging like a demented and bloody swordsman. Dean tries to grab his arm which leaves him in a dangerous position; too close to the other man. The blade sweeps back in front of Dean and slices a clean but deep wound under his ribs.

Dean staggers back and looks down in surprise. Before Mr Switchblade can do any more damage, Sam is there, grabbing him around the neck from behind, while his arm is twisted behind him, roughly. "Dean," Sam says, anxious.

"I'm alright." Looking up, he blinks a few times to try and clear his head. "Put him in the trunk of his car, Sam," he says calmly. As Sam reluctantly nods his head, not wanting to leave Dean for a moment, Dean adds, "And if he accidentally falls on his head a few times on the way, so much the better."

Sam turns the man and pushes him towards the car, keeping the man's arm painfully twisted behind. "Oops, sorry," Sam says when the attacker's head _accidentally_ hits the trunk lid with some force, before pushing him roughly into the trunk. When Sam returns to Dean's side, he's a little unnerved to see that Dean is now kneeling on the ground. He has also removed his overshirt and is currently holding it against his wound. Kneeling down in front of him, Sam gently pulls Dean's arm away. "Let's see."

Dean lets Sam pull up his t-shirt to inspect the cut. He starts to feel strange as Sam's easing up the material. A couple of seconds later, he's being cradled by Sam as he's gently lowered to the ground. "Dean, stay awake and talk to me."

"What happened?"

"You got really pale, and you nearly passed out. Keep your eyes open, okay."

"I'm not losing enough blood to pass out," he says, trying to think logically.

"Not yet. You've likely got a concussion."

"Oh, I thought it was something bad."

"Jesus, Dean," Sam says as he shakes his head. "Just stay where you are until the world stops spinning, alright?"

"Nah, Sammy, get me in the car. I can lie down on the back seat."

Sam sighs. "Okay." He wraps Dean's arm around his shoulder and helps him up. "If you're gonna hurl or pass out, say so, and I'll stop." When Dean doesn't answer, Sam gets insistent. "Dean…"

"Yeah, I heard ya," he says, impatient, but lacking any real heat. Holding his balled-up shirt against the wound, he lets Sam lead him over to the Impala. On the way, he hears a bystander ask Sam if he can help.

"No, we're fine. You could call the cops on those jokers, though," Sam answers, cocking his head over to the Honda.

"We could call an ambulance," the bystander says. Nodding to Dean, he adds, "He looks pretty bad."

"It's gonna be quicker if I take him to the hospital. But thanks."

Dean holds on to the top of the car door as Sam opens it, and he sits himself down, gingerly, before easing back to lie across the seat. Groaning a little, he keeps pressure on the wound with one hand, and reaches up with his other hand to cup his forehead.

When he's folded his brother into the back seat, Sam closes the door and gets in to the driver's seat. "No closing your eyes, Dean."

"I know the drill," Dean says, carefully.

"I know you do. Doesn't stop me saying it, though." Sam starts the car and pulls onto the road. "As soon as I find a decent place to pull over, I'll have a look at you."

"There'll be cops at the gas station before too long. Pick somewhere off the beaten track."

"I know what to do."

"I know you do. Doesn't stop me saying it, though."

"Funny."

Three miles up the road, and about ten miles outside the city of Shreveport, Sam spots the second sign that advertises 'Cross Keys Motel, 1 mile'. Sam follows the signs away from the main road and drives up to the motel a couple of minutes later.

"Why are you pulling over?" Dean asks.

"It's a motel. I'll get us a room and we'll get you patched up."

"Okay."

Sam gets out and organises a room. Back in the car, he drives over to their room and helps Dean from the car to the nearest mattress. When he has Dean seated, he goes back to retrieve their bags, before moving the car around to the rear parking spaces. "Now," Sam says, standing over Dean, who is lying on the bed. "Last time I tried this, you nearly passed out on me. Let's try again." Dean lifts his compress and allows Sam to gently pull up the material of his t-shirt. Sam takes a breath as he sees the damage.

"Well?"

"Maybe…fifteen stitches," Sam judges, looking up to gauge Dean's reaction. "It's deep but it's a clean cut." He turns and disappears into the bathroom momentarily, bringing back a damp hand towel. "I'm just gonna clean you up. Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Mmhmm," Dean responds, knowing not to nod his head in this state.

Sam sits on the side of the bed and starts to wipe the towel around the outside of the wound, cleaning away the blood, and then changing to a dabbing motion as he gets closer to the cut. It only takes another minute before Dean's prepped for suturing. Sam stands up and retrieves the med kit from beside their bags and unzips it. Sighing, he looks over to Dean, who has his eyes closed. "Normally, I'd offer to go out and get you a bottle of something to help with the pain, but with your concussion…"

"I know. No alcohol or painkillers." Dean opens his eyes and turns his head, gingerly. "It's okay. Let's just get it done."

Sam nods. "Okay. I'll be back in a minute."

Dean watches him take the med kit into the bathroom, knowing he's sterilising the needle and rinsing the towel. The second Sam's back is turned, he awkwardly moves closer to the edge of the bed, reaches over the side for his bag, and digs inside, searching. Managing to keep his moans and irregular breathing silent, he brings his hand up a moment later with his flask. His full flask. Holding it by his side while he unscrews the lid one-handed, he checks the bathroom door again before taking three big swallows of bourbon. Making a face, but not making a sound, he lifts the flask again and, in seconds, drains it completely. He narrowly avoids being caught and drops the flask onto the carpet as Sam turns his back on the sink and walks back over to him. He suddenly feels like a kid sneaking alcohol from his dad's stash, and bites back a smile that threatens.

"You ready?"

"I was born ready. Time to practice your quilting, Samantha," Dean says with bravado.

"Funny. And, as retribution, I get to stab you about sixty times with this," he says without enthusiasm, holding up the needle.

Dean takes a few steadying breaths. "Just make 'em neat, Sammy."

"Don't worry. You'll be showing your latest war wound to all the girls in no time."

Dean scoffs, and then regrets it, exhaling on a muffled moan.

Making a conscious decision not to watch Dean's face at all through the suturing, Sam pulls a chair over to the edge of the bed and gets to work. After the first complete stitch, he settles and focuses on the business at hand, rather than how much pain he's causing Dean.

To Dean's credit, he doesn't make any but the faintest of sounds; although, part of that credit goes to Mr Beam; black label. And, seeing as though Sam isn't looking at Dean, he can't see the grimaces on his face.

It's all over in ten minutes and, just after Sam ties off the last stitch and sits back, stretching his now-aching back, Dean takes his first look at the damage. "Nice," he says, with a hint of appreciation in his voice, together with a hint of relief. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now don't make me do that again." Sam finally looks over at Dean's face and something in Dean's expression makes him frown slightly.

"What?"

Instead of answering him, Sam looks down at their bags, heaped on the floor, in between both beds. His suspicions are confirmed a moment later as he sees the flask lying on its side near the bedside table. Looking back to Dean, he is about to tell him off for drinking with a concussion but the look on his brother's face stops him in his tracks. Eyes wide, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and giving Sam a child-like 'I'm busted' look, Sam surprises himself by laughing.

"What?" Dean says again, more insistent.

"You're an idiot," Sam replies simply. "You know you shouldn't drink with a concussion."

"So why are you laughing?"

"The look on your face when I found out. For a second, our roles were reversed, and I was playing big brother."

Dean smiles ruefully. "The job's not all it's cracked up to be."

"Really? I'm that much of a pain? Wait, don't answer that."

Smile still in place, Dean continues. "You think you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders now? Try looking out for a little brother. It's a big responsibility. One I can't take advantage of."

Sam sits there for a few seconds, realising what Dean means. Yeah, he's a little tipsy, but he's actually talking about what happened this morning. Spotting an opportunity, he pushes a little. "You're not taking advantage of me if I want it, Dean. And I do."

Instead of answering, Dean reaches for the pillow next to him and attempts to put it behind his head, to prop himself up a little more.

Sam sees his struggle and tries to help.

"I can do it," Dean says, a little testily.

Sam knows he can't, but humours him by sitting down again.

A few seconds of struggle pass before Dean sighs and gives in. "Fine, I _can't _do it."

Sam gives him an indulgent smile and takes over. When Dean relaxes again, he closes his eyes. Just when Sam is sure that Dean isn't going to continue the conversation, and he's lost his opportunity, he speaks.

"It's a bad idea, Sam. Like, right up there with drinking blood. Right up there with trusting a demon."

"Don't, Dean. If you're trying to get me pissed enough to change the subject, you're gonna be disappointed." Sam reaches for the med kit that he sat on the carpet near his feet and busies himself by dressing Dean's stitches with gauze pads.

Dean opens his eyes when Sam says his name, but he only looks down at his brother's hands as he's being patched up. "Why don't you have a problem with this?" He asks softly.

"With what?"

At that, Dean looks up and glares at Sam. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do; I just want you to say it."

"I'm not sayin' it, so forget it."

"Then I'm not answering."

"Damnit, Sam; grow up."

Sam's eyebrows rise. "Would you like a mirror? 'Cause avoidance isn't exactly mature behaviour, Dean."

"Just forget I said anything," Dean says, attempting to sit up.

"Jesus, Dean, take it easy," Sam says anxiously, quickly moving his hands to push against Dean's shoulders. "Okay, I'll answer the question; just lie back. I'm not in the mood to redo those stitches."

Dean relents and relaxes – gratefully – back against the pillows. "Good, 'cause that hurt like a bitch."

Looking down at his hands, Sam takes a deep breath. Then, looking up at Dean again, he answers, speaking softly. "If you think I don't have a problem with it, you're wrong. Logically, I know it shouldn't happen. But it did. I've always loved my big brother, but it wasn't until about a year before I left for Stanford that I realised I love the _man_ my big brother hasbecome, too." Sam looks at Dean sadly. "I heard what you said in the car, Dean. I know how you feel."

Dean looks down again. "It's impossible, Sam."

"No," Sam fires back, suddenly angry. "_You're_ impossible. Why is it so hard for you to accept something that makes you happy? Why do you always have to play the martyr when it comes to family? Why can't you just allow yourself to take what you want for once?" In the middle of Sam's rant, he stands up and walks to the end of the bed, before turning to look at his injured, unhappy…_stupid_ big brother. "We both want this, Dean; don't you dare lie to me and say you don't."

Dean sees the challenge in Sam's eyes, and knows he's gearing up for a fight. "Sam," he says, almost pleading, "can you try not to yell at me while I've got a concussion."

Sam stares at him for a few seconds as Dean's words penetrate. "Sorry," he says quietly, looking down and, suddenly, his anger disappears all at once.

Dean expects Sam to continue, albeit in a softer voice, but he doesn't. Instead, he watches as Sam sits on his bed and rests his forearms on his thighs, leaning forward.

"Do you need anything?" Sam asks, still not looking up.

Looking at Sam with sympathy, Dean says, "Yeah."

His eyes flicking up to Dean, Sam raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"I need for my pain-in-the-ass baby brother to go out and get us some food. Our lunch is probably still lying on the floor at the gas station."

Sam tries a smile…fails…and nods instead. "I'll see what I can do." Grateful to have an excuse to escape the awkwardness in the room, he makes his way to the door and picks up the keys.

"Sam?"

With his hand on the doorknob, he stops and turns his head.

"For the record…I do. But I can't."

After a moment, Sam nods, and steps outside.


	5. Chapter 5

When Sam returns to the motel an hour later, he finds Dean exactly where he left him. The only difference is that Dean has managed to put on a clean shirt. Crossing the room in a few strides, and sitting the plastic bag down on the table, Sam unwraps the food and puts Dean's on a plastic plate.

Dean watches Sam as he walks past the foot of the bed. "What did you get me?" He asks casually. _I'm sorry_ he says, silently, to Sam's back, wishing that Sam could pick up on that thought.

"Roast beef roll," Sam answers, just as casually, turning and walking over to hand Dean his plate. "Got you a gravy, too."

"Ha, you know me so well. Thanks."

Sam watches as Dean adds gravy to the roll and takes a bite.

Thoroughly enjoying the food, Dean doesn't realise that he has a little gravy just under his bottom lip. Sam, however, focuses on it. _God, I'd like to lick that off him_. Seconds later, and before his groin has time to register a 'hell yeah', he turns away and takes a big bite of his roll. _Cut it out, Sam; he's not gonna allow anything to happen, so accept it._

When he swallows his latest bite, Dean looks over to Sam. "So, we getting back on the road soon?"

Sam looks over his shoulder. "What's your rush?"

"The job in Baton Rouge?"

"Forget it. You're not working a job with a freshly stitched wound."

"I may not be up to going one-on-one with whatever's behind it but I can still do leg work and research. I'm not an invalid."

Sam turns to face Dean. "No. We'll lay low for two or three weeks, just until we can remove your stitches, and then we'll get back in it."

"Sam…"

"No, Dean," Sam says, making it clear that he doesn't want to argue this anymore. "If you don't want to stay here, that's fine, but we're not working. Call it sick leave. Wanna go to Bobby's?" He offers, knowing that it's South Dakota or another motel.

"Oh yeah, just what Bobby needs, another useless hunter."

Sam gives him an exasperated look. "Bobby would kick your ass…legs or no…if he heard you call him useless. And _you're_ not useless, for cryin' out loud; you just need to recover."

"What I need," Dean says, getting agitated, "is to keep working. Now, are we going to Baton Rouge, or not?"

"Not. God, you're a stubborn bastard, Dean."

"Eat me," Dean fires back.

Immediately, Sam's eyebrow lifts, and a slow smile forms as those words ring in his head. "You didn't think before you said that, did you. 'Cause, you know, I could."

"Sam," Dean says slowly, pleading with his eyes for Sam to drop it.

"What?"

If they were talking about something else, Dean would be tempted to laugh at Sam's so-called innocent question. "It's not gonna happen; I told you."

Letting his eyes travel down Dean's body, he replies. "You know, your argument would come off as more sincere if your dick didn't like that idea so much."

"Damn it, Sam!"

"Just making an observation."

Dean really wishes he had a spare pillow or something to cover his growing erection.

"Look," Sam says, hoping for a truce, "how 'bout we stay here for the night and start to make our way up to Bobby's in the morning? It's gotta be close to a twenty-four hour drive from here, so we can stop somewhere else tomorrow night and get to Bobby's on Thursday." At Dean's expression, Sam adds, "You wouldn't let _me_ hunt with that kind of wound and, if you thought about it objectively, you'd know it's the right call."

Dean looks away and - very reluctantly - concedes the point. After a moment, he sighs, and then grimaces. "I hate it when you're right."

Sam smiles. "I know." Reaching into the plastic bag again, Sam grabs a bottle of drink and takes it over to sit on the bedside table, next to Dean. "Truce." Before he moves away again, he risks freaking Dean out by running his index finger lightly along Dean's chin, under his lip, and removes the drop of gravy that has proved very distracting these past minutes. Showing Dean his finger in explanation, he brings the tip to his mouth and sucks the gravy off. He then turns to move back to his chair.

_Jeez, Sam, you're not playing fair. _He needs to take a deep, steadying breath, but his wound won't let him. _Just pretend it never happened. I didn't like his touch; I didn't like watching him suck on his finger; I don't want him to do that to my cock. Damnit. _As usual, little Dean has other ideas, and demands attention. _Pain or not, I gotta take care of this_. Putting his hands flat on the bed by his sides, he attempts to push himself up so he can swing his legs over the edge. As it turns out, the idea was fine in theory, but the practical application needs a little work. At his grunt of discomfort, Sam turns and, in a second, he is back at the side of the bed.

"What are you…"

"I gotta use the bathroom," Dean says, cutting Sam off. _It's the truth…technically speaking_.

"Okay, just grab onto my arm and I'll pull you up." As Dean grips Sam's forearm with one hand, Sam pulls him up, slowly, into a sitting position.

Dean can feel the stitches bunch awkwardly as his skin is no longer taut. At the same time, his head swims momentarily, and he blinks his eyes several times to try to alleviate the spinning and blurriness. He feels a little weak at having to keep a hold of Sam's arm to steady himself, but he does it nonetheless.

When Dean lets go, Sam stays by the side of the bed and rests a hand against Dean's back; meant more as a reassuring gesture than to steady him, but serving both purposes.

Managing to slide his legs over the edge of the bed, Dean sits there for a moment, both hands resting on the mattress. Suddenly, he feels a familiar reaction. "Sam, I'm gonna…"

Sam interprets that immediately, and rushes into the bathroom to retrieve a plastic-lined basket. Sitting back on the bed and thrusting the basket into Dean's hands, his timing is perfect as Dean violently empties his stomach. Sam's hand returns to Dean's back and stills, in an 'I'm here' gesture.

His retching lasts for barely a minute but it leaves him tired and in pain. In the process of moving the basket to the bedside table, Dean realises that he's shaking. "Great," he mutters, trying to regulate his breathing.

"Think you're gonna hurl again?"

"No, I think I'm good for the moment."

"Okay," Sam answers, and steps into the bathroom to dispose of the evidence. Returning with the freshly rinsed basket, he sits it on the floor. "Just sit here for another minute and we'll get you on your feet."

Dean almost smiles. "Uh, that's okay, Sammy; I can wait." _It sounds lame, but better than 'I had to jack off 'cause you made me hard, but there's nothing better than throwing up to reverse that predicament.' _"I might justlie down again; I'm feeling pretty worn out."

"Okay," Sam replies, with a look of concern. As Dean eases himself back against the mattress, Sam looks down to where Dean's wound is hidden by his shirt. "I'm just gonna check your stitches; make sure they're okay after your recent activity." Sam sits sideways on the edge of the bed and pulls Dean's shirt up. Peeling the medical tape back from the edges of the gauze pad, he quickly confirms that the stitches are still sound. Sam looks up at Dean. "You wanna sleep?"

"Yeah. You gonna annoy me by waking me up every hour, Doc?"

"Yeah," Sam answers with a smile.

"Okie dokie." With that, Dean closes his eyes. A few seconds later, he feels the mattress shift as Sam stands up.

………………..

At seven thirty, Sam wakes Dean for the second time.

"Just five more minutes, dad," Dean replies, pretending to be half-asleep instead of just groggy.

"Pizza's on its way."

Dean opens his eyes and thinks about it. "What the hell; even if it comes back up minutes after I eat it, it'll still taste good goin' down."

Sam smirks. "That's the spirit. You wanna try to sit up?"

Dean groans. "Yeah, I guess, but I'll do it."

It takes about two minutes, but he does it. With as deep a breath as can be managed with his wound, Dean stands up and lets his head get used to the altitude.

"How you feelin'?" Sam asks, looking up at him from his bed.

"I've got a headache but, apart from that, I'm…" he pauses, searching for the right word. "Peachy," he concludes, with a smile.

"Uh-huh."

"You think I'm lying?" Dean asks, hearing the doubt in his brother's voice.

"Not _lying_. Sometimes you try to spare me the truth, though."

Dean gives Sam one of his standard answers. "Well, that's 'cause I'm an awesome brother."

Sam shakes his head, and Dean's smile encourages one of his own.

As Dean walks across the room to the bathroom, there's a knock at the door.

"That'll be the pizza," Sam says, and gets up to answer it.

As Dean comes back into the room two minutes later, he joins Sam at the table, where the pizza boxes are open. "Smells good."

As they eat, Dean avoids Sam's eyes, while Sam steals brief glances at Dean. Sam tells himself he's only trying to judge Dean's recovery, just in case his stubborn brother decides to take a nosedive into the pizza.

"Dude, quit staring at me," Dean says, around a mouthful of pizza, not looking at Sam.

Sam looks down at his pizza. "Sorry. Just checking."

"For what?"

Sam looks up again, and straight at Dean. "Warning signs."

"I'm fine, Sam; really. Like I said, I've got a headache, and I can't focus my eyes a hundred percent, but I don't feel sick."

"Okay."

After he's demolished most of the eight slices of his pizza, Dean stands up and moves away from the table, but stops, suddenly, in the middle of the room, facing away from Sam.

When he sees Dean start to sway slightly, Sam overturns his chair in his rush to get up, and grips Dean's shoulders from behind to steady him.

Dean feels Sam's hands on his shoulders, and the closeness of his brother against his back. Against his better judgement, he indulges himself for a few seconds and doesn't try to move away.

"Whoa," Dean says, blinking. "Trippy."

"Come on, space cowboy, let's get you on the bed." Sam moves in front of Dean and grasps his upper arms to lower him to the mattress.

"You just wanna get me horizontal so you can take advantage of me," Dean says before he realises. _Jesus, I can't believe I said that out loud_. He bites his lower lip to stop from saying anything else.

"Not right now, Dean; you've got a headache."

"Funny. You should take your act on the road."

"We _are_ on the road. Lie down."

"I don't need to lie down," Dean replies, as he contradicts himself by resting his head on the pillow. "I just got up too fast. I'll be fine in a minute."

Sam moves away from the bed and picks up both pizza boxes, dropping Dean's next to him, and taking the other with him as he sits on his own bed. "I suggest you stay where you are for the rest of the night. Get some sleep."

"I just woke up twenty minutes ago."

"Then watch some TV."

"And what are _you_ gonna do? Stay up all night, just so you can wake me every couple of hours?"

"No. I'll wake you once, and then I'll let you sleep through. I need _my_ beauty sleep, too, you know."

"Yeah, 'cause you're a sideshow freak," Dean answers, sarcastically.

Sam just smiles.

………………..

As Sam opens the bathroom door and walks out, towelling his hair, he sees Dean is awake. "Morning."

Dean's eyes initially make contact with Sam's naked torso, and the towel around his hips, but he quickly recovers, flicking his eyes up to see Sam's unreadable expression. "Morning."

Awkwardly, Dean sits up. As he stands, he remains still for a moment, half-anticipating some reaction, but all he feels – apart from some pain from his wound – is the need to pee.

Sam watches him disappear into the bathroom and keeps an ear out for a thud or a crash. When Dean walks out two minutes later, he relaxes.

"Status report," Sam says as he reaches for a t-shirt. Watching as Dean walks over to his duffel, he adds, "And no half-truths, Dean."

Dean smiles. "You're like a mother hen. I feel fine," he says, rubbing an eye with his knuckle. "Slight discomfort from my cut; no dizziness; no nausea; only a slight headache, still. Sir," he concludes, with a salute.

Sam gives Dean an exasperated look, but he's relieved. "Well, get washed up; we should get going." Sam yawns as he finishes his sentence.

Dean doesn't miss it. "Okay, but you're buying breakfast on the way. And, 'cause you're driving, I suggest a double shot of coffee; you kinda look like crap."

Sam scoffs. "Right back at ya."

Dean saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror a minute ago, so decides not to argue that point. As he pulls out a fresh set of clothes from his bag and walks towards the bathroom, Sam reminds him not to get the gauze pads or his stitches wet. "Yes, Nurse Ratchett."

………………..

Stopping at the diner on their way out of town, Dean treats himself to a greasy breakfast, and Sam orders a stack of pancakes. At one point, when Dean turns his gaze to a passing pretty woman, Sam steals his extra hash brown in retaliation.

"Hey," Dean says with a slight frown as he turns back and sees that he's been robbed.

"You'll live," Sam replies, dispassionately, and takes another bite.

Dean's knee-jerk reaction is to accuse Sam of being jealous. The taunting word is on the tip of Dean's tongue, but he – wisely – chooses to remain silent, instead. The intended comment is way too dangerous for their uncomfortable situation.

………………..

Despite Dean having the better night's rest, Sam isn't surprised to see him asleep less than fifty miles later. As a result, the only noise in the car for the next two hours is the car itself.

Like clockwork, Dean wakes in time to stop for lunch.

"I'm hungry," Dean says, and yawns.

"I could set my watch by you," Sam says, smiling, as he looks over to him.

"You saying I'm predictable?"

"I'm saying your stomach's predictable."

"Well, I need fuel to keep this healthy body running," he answers, spreading his arms slightly to demonstrate said body.

Sam shakes his head. "You've got sixteen stitches and a concussion."

"Okay, I'm injured, but you know I heal fast. That's a sign of a healthy body."

"Whatever. You getting out, Mr Universe?" Without waiting for an answer, Sam gets out of the car.


	6. Chapter 6

**Apologies for any geographical inconsistencies. **

…..

It doesn't take long for Dean to get restless in the passenger seat. "C'mon, Sammy, let me drive."

"No."

"You're a heartless bastard," he says without conviction.

Sam laughs and looks across to Dean. "'Cause I won't let you drive?"

"Yeah. My baby's probably thinking I'm neglecting her." He pats the dash. "It's okay, sweetheart, I'll be back in the driver's seat soon."

Sam laughs again. "If you're bored, call Bobby and check it's okay that we crash with him for a little while."

Dean sighs, and reaches for his cell. Bringing Bobby's name up on the screen, he hits the call button. It rings three times. "Hey Bobby. Listen, Sam and I are off the job for a week or two, and we were wondering if it'd be okay if we crashed at your place for a little while." Dean pauses as he listens. "I got into it with a drunk guy and a switchblade, and Sam won't let me go out to play until the stitches come out." Pause. "He was trying to steal the Impala," he responds, his voice rising a little as he justifies his actions to a less-than-impressed Bobby. He pauses again and, when Sam looks over, curious, Dean turns to him and smiles as he continues to listen.

"Thanks, Bobby. See you tomorrow." Dean ends the call and returns the phone to his pocket.

"What did he say?" Sam asks.

Dean turns to Sam. "And I quote: 'How many times do I have to tell you chuckleheads that you don't have to ask. Just get your butts up here. As far as I'm concerned, this is _your_ home, too.'" Dean smiles.

Sam scoffs. "We're lucky to have him."

"Yep. Everyone should have a Bobby."

"Everyone should have an ageing, grizzled, cranky hunter?" Sam asks with a smile.

"Exactly."

……………….

Another two hours down the road, Sam gets tired of the silence and pulls over.

"What are you doing?" Dean asks.

Without answering, Sam leans over the back of the seat and reaches Dean's box of tapes. Rummaging through them, he picks one and sits back down, handing it to Dean. "Make yourself useful and put that in." Sam then pulls back onto the road.

Dean grins as he follows Sam's request. "Dude, I knew you'd come 'round eventually."

"That's the tape I made you for your thirtieth birthday. Remember I told you that they're the only songs I don't mind in your collection of mullet rock."

"There's still hope for you, Sammy."

"That's what you said when I gave it to you."

Dean's grin stays firmly in place as the intro to Enter Sandman fills the car.

"You know you gotta bite the bullet one day and install a CD or MP3 player in this car," Sam says during a lull in the music.

"Bite your tongue. That's like telling your girlfriend that she needs plastic surgery."

Sam gives Dean a look. "You realise you just referred to the car as your girlfriend?"

Dean looks a little uncomfortable for a second. "Shut up."

Sam smiles.

………………..

It's been close to ten hours on the road and, at this point, they're looking to crash at the next motel in the next town they find. A few miles further up the road, they both see a road sign that directs them to the turn off for Lawrence (41 miles) and Topeka (64 miles).

"Keep driving, Sam."

Sam drives on, but not before giving the sign a long look. The longing he feels for a place in which he never remembers living is odd. At the same time, it feels right. He may have been too young to have memories of the place, but it _was_ their family home. An actual home. With an actual normal family. Once.

Dean also watches the sign until it falls behind them; however, his feelings are of loss and unease.

They stop for the night in St Joseph, Missouri; twelve hours into their journey north.

"King or two queens?" The man at reception asks.

Sick of the regular snide remarks and smirks on the faces of too many motel receptionists, but too weary to make a point of it, Sam says, "Two beds." As he gives Sam the key, Sam asks if there is anywhere still open where they can get something to eat.

"St Jo's Bar'n'Grill's open 'til late, but they stop servin' food at ten."

"Thanks."

When Dean sits himself down on his bed, and Sam has deposited their bags on the floor, Sam says, "I'm gonna go out and get us something to eat. Anything you need before I go?"

"Nah. You could bring back a bottle of something, though."

"I dunno…"

"It's been over twenty-four hours, Sam; alcohol won't affect my concussion."

Sam considers it. "One beer."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Two."

Sam walks out without another word.

………………..

Making an early start in the morning, with both them and the Impala fuelled, Sam turns to Dean as they walk out to the car. Already deciding to take pity on him, Sam throws the keys to Dean.

Dean gives him a victory smile in return, and lovingly runs his hand along her body as he makes his way to the driver's door.

………………..

"Do you remember that game we used to play when we were on the road with Dad?"

Sam frowns and looks over at Dean. He pauses to think. "The licence plate game?"

"No, the other one. Y'know, town names."

Sam smiles. "Yeah, I remember."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Wanna play?"

Sam looks over at Dean, surprised. "You wanna play town names?"

Dean shrugs. "I'm bored."

Sam thinks about it. "Okay," he answers with a shrug.

"Okay, you start."

There is silence in the car for about ten seconds. "St Louis."

Dean makes a noise. "Good memories," he says, sarcastically. "Uh, Scranton."

Sam thinks. "New Orleans."

"San Francisco."

Pause. "Omaha."

"Abilene."

When Sam doesn't answer after about thirty seconds, Dean smirks. "Gotcha."

"No you don't. I have one, I was just trying to think of one that ends in a hard letter for you."

"Clock's running down, brother," he taunts. "Tick tock tick tock."

"Okay, Eureka."

"Atlanta."

"Amarillo."

Dean is thinking.

"Can't think of one?" Sam goads, getting his own back.

"Shut up, I'm thinking." After a minute, "Oshkosh," Dean says, triumphantly.

"Houston."

"New York."

Sam thinks for a few seconds, and then grins. "Kalamazoo."

Dean groans. "Another O." After two minutes, and with Sam already silently declaring himself 'winner', Dean sighs. "I give up."

Sam grins. "Ottumwa."

"Damnit, I knew that. I'm off my game. Okay, you win this round, Sammy. I'll kick your ass at the licence plate game later."

"Yeah, whatever."

………………..

Five miles outside of Sioux Falls, Dean says, "B.O.L.O. Maccas, okay?"

"Okay."

While they follow the road that bypasses the heart of the city, Sam spots it as they turn the corner. "Arches," he says simply.

………………..

When they get to Bobby's, it's still early enough to go out for a meal and a couple of drinks at the local bar. They invite Bobby but he declines. "Already eaten," he says.

"Come out for a drink, then," Dean counters.

Bobby lifts his beer bottle in answer. Dean gives him a look that Bobby accurately translates as '_you can't hide away all the time, old man'_, but Dean doesn't push it.

Sam and Dean go to the bar with the intention of relaxing for a couple of hours. After their second drink, Dean watches his little brother unwind. He can tell when Sam relaxes. The way he moves changes; he seems less self conscious, and more aware of himself at the same time.

When Sam walks up to the bar to get the next round, Dean watches him. Leaning on the bar, with one boot on the footrest, and his hip cocked to one side, Dean sees – for the hundredth time – how Sam has grown out of his gawky stage and into the long, lean grace of a big cat. Dean wants to trace those lines with his hands; feel the strength and surrender he knows he'd find, if he could just give in and let himself have it. Sam wants it; he got that message loud and clear.

Focused on him, he doesn't see the woman approaching Sam, until she moves to sit on one of the stools Sam is standing between. It's not a subtle move, and Dean's first thought is _too close, bitch_. He then physically blinks at his reaction. _When did I turn into a jealous woman?_

Sam turns his head and smiles at her; although, it isn't one of Sam's natural, thousand-watt smiles.

One corner of Dean's mouth twitches slightly. _Sam's not an easy mark, sister_.

She engages him in conversation, and takes a sip of her drink. When she puckers her lips around the straw – in a way that she must think is flirtatious, but Dean calls too obvious – while keeping eye contact with Sam, Dean rolls his eyes, unamused.

Sam can see the obvious intent in the woman next to him, and part of him is flattered, but mostly he wants the five foot five brunette to disappear and be replaced with a flirting six foot one dark blonde Dean.

While he wonders if Dean is watching them, he decides on a little experiment. After all, his first one resulted in finding out how Dean felt about him. The aftermath wasn't – and isn't – exactly smooth sailing, but it was a step.

Sam turns his body to face the woman, while still partly leaning against the bar. "What's your name?"

"Carla."

"I'm Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam," she says, practicing her coy look.

Flicking his eyes over her head and across the room, he then looks back down to her. "You play pool, Carla?"

"Not very well."

Sam shrugs. "I could teach you. If you want."

Carla pretends to think about it for a moment. "Okay."

Dean watches them move over to the pool table and narrows his eyes. _No doubt she's thinking of how to make pool a contact sport_, he thinks cynically. For reasons he's all too aware of, Dean is annoyed at the woman's presence. Her giggle alone is grating enough to make him want to push her on her ass. _What are you doing, Sammy? She's not your type._

Two minutes of 'accidental' contact between the two, as well as Sam's hands-on tuition, is more than enough for Dean, and he removes himself from the show. Better to leave than to lose it and end up dragging Sam out bodily.

Dean either made a noise getting up, or Sam saw the movement in his peripheral vision, because he turns his head and watches his brother walk out the door. Alone.

Stepping out into the fresh air, Dean walks as far as the end of the building and leans against the wall, resting his head back. _Admit it to yourself, Dean; you're jealous. You don't want anyone touching Sam but you. But, at the same time, you won't let yourself touch him. You're screwed._

A second later, Sam walks out the door and their eyes meet.

Dean wants to move; do something; get away; however, Sam's gaze holds him down, and he watches the distance between them disappear in an instant.

"What's up?" Sam asks.

"Nothing. Just needed some fresh air." _Oh yeah, _that_ sounded casual. Relax_.

When Sam gets within three feet of Dean, he stops momentarily, and then moves in closer, crowding his big brother.

"Why did you need some fresh air?"

"'Cause…it was…'cause it was too warm in there, alright?!" Dean hates the way that came out: all jealous and pouty.

Sam lifts an arm and places his palm flat against the wall, by Dean's head. "You were jealous," he says, lowering his voice to an intimate level.

"Yeah, right," is Dean's unconvincing comeback. With his heartbeat starting to race, Dean tries to move away and regain some control, but Sam lays his other hand on Dean's chest and pushes him back slowly, carefully avoiding his stitches.

"Sammy," he starts, almost pleading, hoping to talk some sense into his little brother, and not to start something that they can't come back from.

Sam can see the panic in his eyes, but he also knows that if Dean really hated the idea, he would've pushed Sam away by now; violently, if needed. Armed with that information, Sam closes the distance and captures Dean's lips before he can think to say anything else.

Dean goes completely still. _God, so soft_ is – strangely – his first reaction. His head wars with every other part of his body, and he tells himself to wait 'til Sam pulls back before pushing him away and getting – understandably, but not genuinely – angry. Within seconds, though, Dean realises his plan isn't going to work. Sam's slow kiss quickly melts his resistance and his lips invite and encourage acquiescence, if not outright participation. When Sam deepens the kiss, Dean crumbles. Suddenly, he has no defences and, with a moan of surrender, leans away from the wall and into the kiss.

Sam's head spins as he feels Dean finally responding to him, and he pulls Dean's body further against him, with a hand cradling his head and his other hand gripping Dean's waist.

At the moment that Dean feels Sam's tongue gently lick along his bottom lip, his brain shuts down. All that's left is Dean and Sam and this thing they've both wanted for years, and _fuckmeallover it's perfect_. With his hand appearing at the back of Sam's neck like magic, Dean responds to his brother's move in kind, flattening the tip of his tongue to stroke Sam's, and moans at the sensation.

They pull back at the same time, breathless with the enormity of the situation, as much as the need for air. Whether it's because they can't look at each other right away, or they just need recovery time, they lower their heads and lean into the touch of temple against temple, breathing heavily.

A few moments later, Sam starts to get a little anxious at Dean's silence. "Dean, say something," he says quietly. He leans back to study Dean's face. _Please don't regret it. _

Dropping his arm to his side, Dean moves back against the wall and drags his eyes up to Sam's expectant face. Trying to un-jumble his brain to form a response, he takes a moment. "If I knew you could kiss like that, I might not have resisted this." He smiles. It's not his usual, cheeky smile, but it's a start.

Sam can't help but smile in return. "Are you okay with this?"

"I don't know that I'd go _that_ far. Not yet, at least." Frowning slightly, he searches Sam's face. "Are you really prepared for where this might lead? Where it probably _will_ lead? 'Cause this is…"

"I know what it is, Dean," Sam says, cutting him off, "and I've wanted this for nine years. It's not a spur of the moment decision." He leans in closer. "I want this. You."

Dean takes a deep breath, which reminds him of his stitches, and lets it out slowly. "Do me a favour?"

Sam just raises his eyebrows.

"Convince me some more," he says, and wraps his fist in Sam's shirt as he pulls him in.


	7. Chapter 7

The sound of an approaching car along the road makes Dean pull back and drop his arms to his side, self-conscious. "We can't stay here."

"And we can't exactly pick this up back at Bobby's," Sam answers, disappointed, not wanting this to end so soon. Then, before Sam can register the change, he is being pulled around the corner of the bar, into an unlit laneway, and it's _his_ turn to be pushed up against the wall.

Dean pins Sam's arms to the rough brick, his hands wrapped around impressive biceps, and attacks Sam's mouth; the passion for his brother finally unleashed and able to be expressed, albeit privately.

As much as Sam wants to grab on to Dean, he lets his arms be restrained and gives in, eagerly following Dean's lead; the thrill of feeling Dean take what he wants is heady, and he surrenders to it.

When Dean feels Sam moan into his mouth, his already throbbing dick reacts swiftly, and he reluctantly pulls back, leaning his forehead against Sam's shoulder. After a moment, he says, "This is so fucked up."

Sam takes a steadying breath and smiles ruefully over his brother's head. "That's our life, Dean."

Dean shakes his head slightly and looks up. "Why can't we have anything normal?" He says softly.

Sam gives him a real smile. "I distinctly remember you saying once that if you had normal, you'd blow your brains out."

Dean scoffs. "Well, that was before Hell and the Apocalypse and all its players. Normal's looked a lot better since."

"Yeah. Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"As much as I like your touch…" he pauses to let that register, "I'd like to touch you, too." With that, he drops his eyes to Dean's hands, still pinning Sam against the wall.

Although there isn't much light along this side of the building, enough filters through from the front and side windows to be able to see each other.

Dean smiles and moves back a half a step, dropping his arms. "Sorry, I…"

Sam immediately grabs a hold of Dean's shirt and brings him back until Dean steps in between Sam's legs. "Don't _ever_ apologise for touching me," Sam says with a smile. While he still has a hold of Dean's shirt, he remembers. "How are your stitches?"

"What stitches?" Dean asks, with a smile.

Sam grins and shakes his head. "I take it that means they're okay."

"They're fine, Sammy. I _should_ probably refrain from rigorous physical activity for a little while…but, if we take it easy…" He raises his eyebrows as he lets the rest of that thought hang in the air, locking his gaze on Sam.

Sam raises an eyebrow of his own. "You wanna…?"

In answer, Dean wraps his hand around Sam's wrist and guides his hand down to his crotch, proving how much Dean really does want this. "Feel that, Sam? I'm rock hard for my little brother." With a growing smirk, he continues. "It's wrong, and I think you should punish me."

Trying to wipe the grin from his face, Sam pretends to think about it. "Hmmm…how do you think I should punish you? I could not let you drive the car for a week. Maybe I should make you clean Bobby's house."

"Oh God," Dean answers, rolling his eyes, "anything but that. Plus, Bobby would kill us if we cleaned up his organised chaos."

"Well, maybe the punishment should fit the crime."

"Oh?" Dean says as casually as he can manage.

"Yeah. Well, since your little brother was responsible for you being rock hard, maybe he should be the one to rectify the situation."

"Go on," Dean says, and he bites down on the inside of his lower lip to stop from smiling.

"I was just thinking that if your brother got down on his knees, for example, and used his hands" - as Sam cups and gently squeezes the obvious bulge in his hand - "and mouth to…release the tension, the problem would be solved. What do you think?"

"I think I would be very grateful, but I also think that it would be less strain on my stitches if we reversed those positions and my brother let me relieve _his_ tension, instead."

Still playing the game, Sam says, "Yes, I see your point." Then, unable to help himself, Sam's grin is back in place. It doesn't last long, though. "And just how are we gonna be able to do any of that while staying at Bobby's? Even if he can't make it upstairs in his wheelchair, he can still hear perfectly well." Sam releases Dean and sags against the wall. "And," he adds, covering all the bases, "we're not doing it here."

"No, not here," Dean replies seriously, his smile gone too quickly. Looking at his watch, he sighs. "We should probably get back." As Sam lowers his head and gives a sigh of his own, Dean's hand is moving to Sam's neck before he realises. Resting his palm against the skin under Sam's left ear, he lets his fingers lightly massage at the base of Sam's hairline. "What the fuck are we doing, Sammy?" He asks, bringing Sam's head to rest against his shoulder.

"As girly as it sounds, we're listening to our hearts for the first time."

"Yeah, you're right," Dean says softly. "That _did_ sound girly."

Sam laughs against Dean's shirt. Then, a moment later, he lifts his head. Looking at Dean, he says, "I need to kiss you again before we go."

Dean doesn't respond. Not verbally, at least. Leaning in closer, he takes Sam's lips gently, and deepens the contact immediately, slowly kissing Sam senseless. Hands skim and slide and grab for purchase against the smooth of clean shirt and the rough of new denim.

Sam gladly lets himself get carried away in the moment, moaning in response to Dean's superbly talented mouth. Finally breaking away with a series of smaller kisses, Sam is loath to stop touching Dean for fear that the loss of physical contact will shatter the emotional connection as well.

Sam is grateful for the solid wall at his back for another moment. "I knew there was a reason women liked you."

Dean chuckles. "What can I say, Sammy? I'm a stud in bed."

Sam scoffs. "And if I didn't think that was true, I'd say you're full of yourself."

Still smiling, Dean thinks about how he can't wait to show Sam exactly what he's bragging about. Suddenly, when he is reminded of just what that means, Dean steps back quickly and reaches into his jacket pocket for the car keys. "Come on, baby brother; let's go," he says, losing the bantering tone.

Sam notices the change in Dean and stops him for a moment. When Dean looks back to him, he says, "You're still having a hard time with this, aren't you."

Dean sighs. "Yeah." He pauses for a few seconds, trying to find the words, and looks down. "Ever since I carried you out the house that night, you've been mine. And, up 'til now – with a few exceptions – I've done a pretty good job of looking out for you. Now, though, it feels like…like…oh shit, I dunno…like I'm taking the worst kind of advantage of you."

"You're not," Sam says, his face softening in sympathy, "and you know it. _I_ was the one who pushed for this, remember? You're only feeling guilty 'cause you're the big brother. I'm not asking you to stop being my big brother, but we're way past denying what we feel. I love you, Dean, and I want to show you how much. Every day for the rest of our lives, if you'll let me."

Studying Sam's face in the dim light, Dean listens to his heartfelt words, and his heart picks up its pace as he hears 'I love you'. He always knew it, and Sam always knew it of him, but they never said it in so many words. Now, to hear it when Sam is telling him he wants to be his lover…well, they've definitely turned a corner. All the same, they still have a way to go so, in the meantime, Dean falls back on the familiar.

"We've officially crossed over into a chick flick," he says, almost to himself.

Sam gives Dean a weak smile. "Dean…"

"I know, Sammy; I shouldn't feel guilty. I'll work on it. That's all I can promise, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees, his smile real this time.

"Come on."

……………

Walking inside, the light from the fireplace leads them to Bobby, who is reading.

Dean sees the old, large book open on the desk. "Some light reading before bed?" He asks, deciding to stand, since he can't find the sofa under all the books and paraphernalia.

"Research," Bobby answers simply. "You wanna dump your bags upstairs and come back down to help for an hour?"

"Sure," Sam answers.

When Sam and Dean take their duffels into Bobby's spare room, upstairs, and drop them at the foot of their beds, Sam takes advantage of a few precious moments and surprises Dean as he pushes him up against the wall. Lifting an arm to rest against the wallpaper, Sam leans in to capture Dean's lips in a slow, deep caress.

Dean returns the kiss with enthusiasm, and savours the fact that, not only is someone else the aggressor this time, but that someone is strong, hard, and powerful…and his Sammy.

Whilst Sam is still leaning in to Dean, their bodies are not touching, and that starts to frustrate Dean; like he has a phantom itch, and the need to touch Sam is like the need to scratch. Without breaking the kiss, Dean hooks a finger into Sam's belt loop and brings his hips forward.

Sam smiles against Dean's lips and moves his other hand to lay flat against the wall, next to Dean's head, and slowly leans in further, like he's doing a vertical push-up. Then, he takes it one step further by positioning a leg in between Dean's and rolling his hips against him, just once. He is satisfied with Dean's answering moan.

Breaking the kiss, Sam smiles as he looks into Dean's eyes. "You gotta be quiet, Dean, or Bobby will hear us."

"Then stop kissing me like that," he replies in a harsh whisper.

Sam chuckles. "Not a chance."

Dean gently pushes Sam back and moves across the room so he can clear his head.

Sam follows him but sits on the edge of his bed, trying to read Dean's profile.

Turning to face Sam, Dean then joins him on the bed, sitting so their thighs and shoulders are touching; close enough that he can speak softly. Looking down at Sam's hands, resting in between his knees, he says, "God help me, I want this, Sam, but…well, the first time it happens…I just don't want either of us to have to hold back, you know? I wanna hear you. Let's wait 'til Bobby has to meet up with Rufus in the morning, okay?"

Sam sees the sense in that and he slowly nods his agreement. "Okay," he answers, looking at Dean. "Now I just have to convince my body."

Dean gives a deep chuckle, which zings all the way down Sam's body.

Turning his head, and placing his mouth against Sam's ear, Dean says, "If we were in some crap hole cheap motel, you wouldn't need to convince your body of anything, 'cause there'd be nothing to stop us. But, right now, just try not to think of how good it's gonna feel when we finally get each other naked."

Sam's breath hitches as he hears Dean's erotic words, and the accompanying warm breath on his ear. He turns his head and tries to glare at Dean, but only manages a rueful quirk of his mouth. "You are _so_ not helping right now."

They both look at each other for a long moment with barely contained desire, their heartbeats increasing and their bodies practically thrumming with the anticipation.

A clang downstairs, followed by a not-so-muffled curse, jars them back to reality, and Dean slaps a hand against Sam's thigh and stands. As Dean reaches the doorway of their shared room, he turns back and braces his hands on either side of the doorframe. With a hushed voice that only makes it as far as Sam, he challenges, "Think you can keep it in your pants for another twelve hours?" Then, with a smirk, he turns again and leads the way down the stairs, not giving Sam a chance to respond.


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay. This chapter has been harder to write than the previous two. Maybe it's because it's the sex scene chapter. Anyway, it's taking longer than it should…so I thought I'd give you a teaser in the meantime. Hopefully the rest won't be too far behind.**

Standing in the kitchen, each with a cup of coffee in their hands, Sam and Dean watch Bobby as he looks for his keys.

"Bobby," Sam says, to get his attention. As Bobby turns to him, he motions his head across the room. "Next to the toaster."

"A-ha." Picking them up, he turns to the door. "I'll be gone for most of the morning. Don't burn the house down." That's Bobby's idea of a 'see ya'.

Dean, being closest to the door, opens it, and waits 'til Bobby navigates his wheelchair out before releasing the door to a familiar bang.

A moment later, Sam looks up at Dean, to find that Dean is already looking at him with a strange expression. "What?" Sam says, frowning slightly.

Dean pushes himself away from the bench top and puts his coffee cup in the sink. "I dunno," he says, now leaning against the sink, with his hands propped beside him on the edge.

Sam doesn't move. "Yes you do."

Dean gives a little smile as he looks at Sam. "Yeah, I _do_."

Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"No. I should be but…no."

"Then what is it?"

At this point, Dean actually squirms a little and looks down at his feet.

"Spit it out, Dean."

"I'm fucking nervous, okay?!" He blurts out, with his head still bowed.

Sam's answering smile is immediate. He is both relieved and immensely pleased at Dean's admission. "And you think I'm not?" He replies.

Looking up, Dean says, "I dunno; you're just a lot more accepting of the whole thing. I thought I was, too, but now, when there's nothing to stop us, I don't mind admitting that I'm freaking out a little."

"You've got dad screaming in your head." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. I just feel like, the minute I touch you in a way that isn't brotherly, I'm gonna be struck down. Not by God, by dad. Like he's gonna appear, from wherever he is, and beat the ever-loving shit outta me. And yes, I realise that sounds stupid."

Sam watches Dean with sympathy. Sighing, he then breaks the temporary silence. "It didn't happen last night when you touched me."

"I didn't say it was rational," he murmurs.

"Well, I say we put the theory to the test." At Dean's look, he adds, "Don't worry, Dean, I'll protect you." Smiling at Dean's glare, he walks across the room and briefly stops in front of him. "Do you want another coffee?"

"Nah, I'm wired enough as it is."

"Okay. I'm gonna have one." With that, Sam makes his way to the kettle and flicks the switch.

Meanwhile, Dean – feeling more than a little restless – walks into the living room. He expected Sam to jump him as soon as Bobby's van was out of earshot. The fact that that hasn't happened is…_admit it, Dean_…disappointing. _And why am I waiting for Sam to make the first move?_ _Where's that confident guy that all the women love?_ The answer makes him smile, despite himself: _Cowering in the living room_.

He turns and looks at Sam, who is standing with his back to Dean. He looks relaxed; no tense shoulders; no rigid posture. Taking in Sam's form, from head to boots, he makes up his mind, and closes the distance between them.

Sam senses Dean's approach and doesn't move. Long seconds later, he feels Dean's hands lay flat against the middle of his back. Dean doesn't move them immediately and, as a result, Sam enjoys the feeling of warmth that radiates through his shirt. Dropping his head, Sam tries to concentrate on his breathing.

"Tell me you're nervous, too, Sammy," Dean says softly. Despite being so close, he doesn't hear Sam's laugh, but he feels the movement under his hands.

"I _am_ nervous, Dean. Just because I want it to happen, doesn't mean it's easy for me."

"Good, 'cause I'd hate to be the odd one out."

Sam turns slowly to face Dean, leaning back against the counter, and – though neither of them realise it – their breaths quickly synchronise, like they're breathing in each other. Time ticks away like a slow-motion replay for those seconds.

When time reasserts itself, Sam takes a deep breath. "Dean," he starts, but doesn't get any further before Dean is shaking his head.

"Upstairs, Sammy," he says, his voice low. When Sam is slow to move, Dean adds, "Now." That earns him a slow smile.

"What about my coffee?" Sam asks, pretending to be interested in something other than feeling Dean's body under him.

Dean plays along. "I'll give you a choice: you can sit here and drink your coffee, or you can come upstairs and find out what it'd be like to have my mouth all over your naked body." He shrugs for effect and walks out of the room.

As he watches Dean's retreating back, Sam smiles like a Cheshire cat and pushes himself away from the counter. He catches up to Dean as he reaches the bottom of the staircase, and presses himself against his big brother when Dean stops. "Well, when you put it _that_ way," he says softly, and can see Dean's smile as Sam nudges his cheek against his brother's ear.

As Sam follows Dean up the stairs, they both hear the kettle whistling in the kitchen. Dean chuckles.

Sam has barely stepped through the doorway to their room when Dean stops and turns to him.

"Last chance, Sammy. If we do this, there's no going back."

"I don't wanna go back, Dean; I want this." To drive the point home, Sam bridges the two feet between them and kisses Dean soundly. "Now," he says, leaning his head back to look at Dean, "didn't you say something about your mouth and my naked body?"

Dean gives him a genuine, cheeky smile. "Yeah." Not wanting to waste any more time, Dean reaches for Sam's belt and starts unbuckling him. Lifting his eyes briefly, he says to Sam, "I want that shirt off. Now."

Sam replies with a smile. "You're a little impatient, don't you think?" He teases.

"I'm sick of waiting. Get it off."

Sam follows orders without another word, loving that they're both as anxious as each other.

When Sam's shirt puddles on the floor, Dean has Sam's button-fly completely undone, and pushes his hands inside and under the band of Sam's boxers, squeezing his firm ass. Not satisfied with that magnificent sensation alone, Dean softly wraps his lips over Sam's right nipple and lets his tongue play with the hard nub.

Sam sucks in a breath. "Wow," Sam remarks, with a small smile and an encouraging noise, "when you make up your mind, you really make up your mind."

Dean detaches his mouth and lifts his head. "We've made our bed now, Sammy; we may as well have hot sex on it." Dean punctuates the sentence with a smirk.

Sam scoffs and shakes his head. "Speaking of the bed," he says, and looks behind him at the mattress.

"Uh-uh, not yet. We go at _my_ pace."

_Oh yeah, I'm gonna like this_. "Whatever you say, Dean."

"Mmmm…I like that." With a final, appreciative squeeze to Sam's ass, Dean steps back and starts to strip. When Sam hooks his thumbs inside the tops of his jeans and boxers, Dean utters a soft but definitive "No." When Sam stops, he elaborates. "I want you to watch me, Sammy. Don't take 'em off until I'm completely naked."

Sam smiles, and his eyes almost dance with mischief. "Should've known you'd like to drive in the bedroom, too." He drops his arms to his sides.


	9. Chapter 82

**If this sex scene is a little slow for your porny taste, I do apologise, but the boys wouldn't be rushed. I call it 'slow porn'. And, because this chapter is longer than I anticipated, I felt the need to split it again. Hopefully, it will still flow. Click onto the previous chapter if you need a quick refresher. I'll shut up now.**

Dean continues to disrobe, remembering to be careful with his wound. As he removes his t-shirt, he re-establishes eye contact with Sam and feels a perverse, naughty thrill at getting naked for his baby brother.

Now shirtless, Dean sits down in the nearby chair to remove his boots and socks, feeling Sam's eyes bore into his flushed skin. Standing again, he stops in front of Sam and starts to fumble with his belt, only then realising that his hands are shaking. He blows out his breath on a nervous laugh and shakes his head.

Sam spots the problem right away and steps into Dean's space. Placing his hands over Dean's, he tries to soothe him. "You're not giving up control by letting me help you. Plus," he adds with the hint of a smile, "you're taking way too long."

Dean sees the warmth in Sam's eyes and gives in. Letting his hands slide out from under Sam's, he looks down to watch as Sam unbuckles his belt, and then unbutton and unzip his jeans, wondering _how can hands that big can be so agile and graceful? You fuckin' girl_, he adds, admonishing himself, and has to bite back a smile.

When they are both naked to the waist, with their jeans undone, Sam lets his hands skim over the curve of Dean's hips as he reluctantly pulls back. "I think you can manage the rest." With that, Sam steps back a couple of paces and toes off his shoes and socks.

With a hammering heart, Dean pushes his jeans and boxers down his hips and thighs - his breath hitching as his eager cock springs free of its confinement - and continues down his legs. Then, standing upright again, he steps out of them and stands in front of Sam, willing his nerves to fuck off so he can enjoy this fully.

Sam can't help staring. "God, you're fucking beautiful," he says without embarrassment.

Dean's mouth quirks and one eyebrow rises. "Come on, Sammy, _beautiful_?" At Sam's nod, he looks down. "Even with this?" He asks, pointing to his stitches and the padding that's covering them.

"Yeah."

Dean is a little embarrassed at Sam's declaration, and it shows as he gives a self-conscious smirk. "You're easy to please," he replies, letting humour ease his nerves, and watches Sam's smile. "Your turn," he adds, dropping his gaze to Sam's jeans.

Sam happily complies, dragging his jeans and white cotton boxers down his long legs, and stepping out of them; all while enjoying Dean's reaction.

"Right back at ya," Dean replies to Sam's earlier statement, admiring Sam's chiselled physique. Suddenly, and surprisingly, Dean can't hear his head talking to him anymore, telling him that it's wrong, and he takes advantage of it. Stepping in close to Sam, he moves his hand to thread through Sam's hair, and brings their mouths together.

Sam sinks into the kiss and feels himself growing harder as he feels Dean's body against his. He deepens the kiss, and sweeps his tongue against Dean's in a sensual caress. At the same time, Sam slides a hand down Dean's flank, and lower, reaching his ass and squeezing as he pulls him closer still.

Reluctantly, Dean pulls back slightly a moment later and takes a quick, deep breath. "Bed, Sammy," he breathes against Sam's lips. With that, he moves his hands to push lightly against Sam's shoulders, and Sam sits on the foot of the bed. Standing in between Sam's knees, Dean pushes him again and watches with a small smile as his little brother lets himself fall heavily on the bedspread.

Sam lifts his arms and links his fingers together behind his head as he looks up at Dean. His slow smile quickly turns into a smirk as he watches his big brother watching him. Before he can think of something cheeky to say, however, Dean's hands on his thighs divert his attention completely.

Without a word, Dean leans forward until his arms are taking his weight, either side of Sam's waist, holding himself over Sam so that their bodies come into contact from thighs to stomach. Feeling their cocks push and rub together, Dean exhales on a harsh moan. When Sam lifts his hips in answer, Dean lets Sam take his weight as he moves in to hungrily claim his mouth. As he does so, he stops short with a small – but still audible - groan, and slowly moves back until he's standing in between Sam's knees again.

"Jeez, Dean, I'm sorry; I forgot," Sam says with concern, lifting himself to rest on his elbows.

Looking down at his stomach, Dean then lifts his eyes and quirks a corner of his mouth. "It's okay, Sammy, so did I."

"Maybe…" Sam starts, sitting up and sliding a hand from Dean's hip to thigh, feeling the need to keep contact. He searches for an easier, less painful way for them to still have this.

"Maybe this isn't gonna work until my stitches come out," Dean says, laying a hand on Sam's shoulder and letting his thumb play across his collarbone.

Sam lets out a small, frustrated huff. "God, Dean, I can't wait that long."

He says it with such feeling that Dean can't help but chuckle.

"Maybe," Sam says slowly, trying again, "I could do without your mouth all over me, like you promised. Maybe if your mouth was only in _one_ place, it'd be okay."

Dean reads Sam's growing smirk as much as the words and lowers his head close to Sam's. "I wanna hear you say the words, Sam."

Moving his hands to slowly stroke up and down the curve of Dean's lower back, Sam lifts his head from the mouth-watering sight in front of his face and obliges him. "I want that beautiful mouth around my cock. That plain enough for you?"

"Mmmm…yeah. Looks like we're in the wrong positions for that, little brother."

"Easily fixed. Where do you want me?"

"Right there; don't move." Dean slowly sinks to his knees and Sam accommodates him by opening his legs further.

"Are you sure about this?" Sam asks.

Looking at Sam, Dean gives him a warm smile. _He's got 'please say yes' written all over his face_. "C'mere," he says, and waits for Sam to lower his head to plant a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. "I'm sure. Want me to show you _how_ sure I am?"

Just like that, Sam's smirk is back in place. "That was a stupid question."

Dean licks along Sam's lower lip and takes his mouth again, smiling into the kiss. He feels Sam's hands rest on each shoulder, before making their journey over his biceps, down his forearms, and coming to a stop, one hand covering Dean's on his thigh, and the other moving around to Dean's back to pull him closer.

When Dean deepens the kiss, he inadvertently tightens his grip on Sam's thigh, but only slightly. Regardless, Sam moans into Dean's mouth. Quickly deciding that he wants more of that, Dean moves one hand from under Sam's and grasps his brother's erection.

Dean's touch is light as his fingers close around the shaft, but Sam reacts as though Dean just zapped him with a tazer gun, and he has to pull back because he suddenly needs air. "Fuck, Dean," he breathes, and Dean's mouth twitches into a lopsided smile.

"Sensitive much?" Dean teases, stilling his hand.

Sam chokes out a laugh. "I guess I am. My body's kind of on high alert right now."

"I know what you mean." Finding Sam's lips again, Dean continues to explore his mouth, taking his time, although he wants to take everything Sam has to offer, and now.

Pulling away, only when breathing becomes necessary again, Dean lowers his gaze, his eyes travelling down Sam's chest and stomach to the impressive length of Sam's erection in his hand. "What do you say, Sam," he says, looking back into Sam's open expression, "think conditioner will do in place of lube?"

Sam smiles. "How about baby oil?"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Got any?"

"My bag."

Dean braces his hands on Sam's thighs and gets to his feet. Walking over to Sam's bag on the chair, he digs around until he finds the bottle. He is just about to turn around again when he – somehow – feels Sam's eyes on him. Smiling, he stays still for a little while longer, savouring the feeling. Confirmation isn't long coming.

"As much as I like the view, Dean, I need you to get your ass back over here."

Dean turns his head to look over his shoulder. "Perv," he says with a smile.

"Only when it comes to my brother."

Dean turns fully and shakes his head as he moves back to Sam. "That should sound so wrong, but it just sounds hot."

As Dean stands in between his knees again, Sam moves his head closer and flicks his tongue out briefly to lick the skin in front of him, above Dean's navel. He follows it up with a lingering, sucking kiss, and delights in the throaty noises Dean makes in reply, even though Sam's mouth is a mere three inches away from his stitches. Sam looks up at Dean with his practiced 'puppy dog look', and then quickly changes it to a leer. "On your knees," he says.

Dean smirks and slowly lowers himself again, letting the plastic bottle fall to the floor in front of him. "If I get carpet burn, Sammy…"

Sam's mouth on Dean's neck effectively cuts off that sentence.

Tilting his head and exposing his neck for Sam, Dean cups the back of Sam's head to bring his mouth down harder, and literally shivers as Sam licks and then places a wet, open-mouthed kiss at the juncture of shoulder and neck.

Sam feels Dean's reaction, and it only serves to stoke the already-burning fire inside them both. "Jesus, Dean, if it wasn't for your stitches, you'd be in so much trouble right now."

Pulling back, Dean gives a little smug grin. "Oh yeah? Misdemeanour-trouble, or I-dropped-the-soap-in-front-of-a-prisoner-named-Cuddles-trouble?"

"Well, we could role-play that prison game another time, but you've got the idea."

"Kinky."

"Hey, you brought it up."

Smiling, Dean asks, "When did you buy the baby oil?"

"The other day."

"Why baby oil?"

"Well, it's less embarrassing to buy than lube."

"So you were pretty confident that I'd give in, were you?" Dean challenges.

Sam answers the challenge. "I knew how you felt, so I knew it was only a matter of time. You've said it yourself: I'm a dog with a bone when I want something."

"Well, you've definitely got a bone," Dean adds playfully, flipping the lid of the baby oil one-handed, while he gives Sam a little squeeze.

Sam's eyes close briefly in a slow blink, and then he watches as Dean releases him and squirts a small amount of clear liquid onto his palm. A second later, Sam moans low as Dean closes his hand around him and starts to stroke.

"Y'know, we've got a whole bottle of baby oil here; enough for both of us. This could end up being a very slippery morning."

Sam chuckles. "As intriguing as that sounds, I think we'll have to save that for another day."


	10. Chapter 83

Dean smiles when he hears the way Sam's voice has changed as he gets more turned on, and is surprised when he feels his own cock filling further in reaction to the deep rumble. Instead of stopping his hand and taking a moment as the feeling washes over him, Dean grips Sam firmer and starts to pump his length, while managing to keep the slow, teasing pace.

"So hard for me, baby brother," Dean says, his voice rough with arousal. "You feel so good in my hand."

Hearing Sam's answering groan, and watching as his eyes close and his head drops back, Dean smiles. "You like when I talk to you like that, don't you."

Sam smiles softly. "Yeah," he replies thickly, drawing the word out.

"Hmm…my little brother has a kink, after all. Got any more, Sammy?"

Sam opens his eyes, and his smile turns to a grin. "Yep," he says confidently, "and I think I might make you find them all by yourself."

"I like the sound of that game," Dean rumbles. Alternating between tightening and easing his grip, he pulls his hand up to the ridge of Sam's head and licks along Sam's jaw line. "Tell me how my hand feels on your cock, Sammy," Dean whispers into his ear.

After a second, Sam answers. "Heaven. A dirty slice of heaven."

Dean chuckles. He continues to stroke Sam while his mouth maps the muscled expanse of chest and stomach, his tongue and lips leaving little trails of wetness in his wake. He feels the weight of Sam's hand on the back of his head; a gesture of encouragement, which Dean answers. Dean lavishes attention on both pecs, kissing and licking, not yet touching Sam's nipples. He briefly stills his hand on Sam's shaft, and looks up at him as he places a kiss over Sam's thumping heart. Dean doesn't have  
to wait long for Sam's response.

"God, Dean, don't stop. Please."

Smiling, Dean leans up and kisses him softly. "Just gauging your reaction; you're a little quiet."

Sam scoffs, a little self-conscious. "'Cause what you're doing is shutting down my brain."

"Well," Dean replies, moving his hand again and pulling firmly up to the head to rub his thumb across the slit, "I guess sucking your cock is gonna _fry_ your brain." At Sam's groan, Dean grins. Kissing Sam's exposed throat, Dean then moves down again, attaches his lips to one nipple, and sucks hard.

Sam arches towards Dean and he lets out a strangled noise.

After a moment, Dean pulls back and looks at Sam. "You ready for me, Sammy?"

With a small smile, Sam nods his head. He's afraid that if he speaks at the moment, he'll sound like a needy slut, so he remains silent.

Dean moves his hand away from Sam's cock, and runs his palms down the long, graceful line from Sam's hips to the outside of his thighs. Pushing gently on the inside of Sam's knees, Dean opens his legs further, and Sam's quick exhale doesn't disappoint. "Lay back, Sam," Dean instructs, and watches Sam's abs tighten as he slowly leans back.

At the first touch of Dean's tongue to the head, Sam realises he isn't willing to give up the sight of Dean licking and sucking his dick, so he props himself up on his arms and leans back on his hands. "I wanna watch you, Dean."

"Okay by me," Dean answers, "but don't expect too much; I've never done this before."

Looking down between his knees at Dean, Sam gives him an honest response. "Right now, I think whatever you do is gonna be perfect."

Dean reads Sam's face as much as he interprets his words, and knows it's the truth. With renewed confidence, Dean looks back down at Sam's eager body, and the vulnerable position he is in, and decides that he wants his little brother _more_ vulnerable; more open. He slides his palms under Sam's thighs and grips him, before pulling him forward sharply. Feeling Sam fall backward, even as his body is pulled further toward the end of the bed, Dean guides his head down to take Sam's length between his lips. With one hand wrapped loosely around the base, he relaxes his throat and lowers his mouth further down his shaft.

Sam releases a needy, broken groan at the indescribable feeling of Dean's mouth around his dick, and closes his eyes, even as his hands twist in the bedspread.

When Dean pulls his mouth away and looks up the length of Sam's powerful body, he smiles at the sight: his little brother totally surrendering to him, with his hands gripping the covers, and his mouth that – at this moment – is changing from open and pliant at the sensation, to almost closed as he looks down in puzzlement.

"Why'd you stop?"

"I thought you were gonna watch me," Dean answers with a smug look as he runs his hand up the underside of Sam's cock, pushing it against Sam's stomach in the process.

Sam takes a calming breath. "Change of plans," he says as his head hits the mattress again. "My brain and body can't work at the same time while you're sucking my dick, so leaning up and watching is beyond me right now." Sam hears Dean chuckle seductively and, in response, his cock twitches in Dean's hand. _God, only Dean could manage a dirty chuckle like that_.

Taking every opportunity to shut down Sam's brain and make him simply feel, Dean keeps eye contact as he slides his hand up the length of Sam again, and follows the path with his tongue, providing a little more pressure at the head. At Sam's moan, Dean does it again. "Yeah, Sam, let me hear you," he says a moment later, trying to coax more of the same.

When Dean's tongue lifts away from his skin, Sam expects his hand to return to repeat the action, so when he feels his brother's mouth on his balls, instead, Sam cries out. "Jesus, Dean," he forces out.

Drawing each of Sam's balls into his mouth, Dean suckles him while his hand grasps Sam's cock and rubs his thumb around the head, smearing pre-come over the taut skin. Before Sam can get too used to the feeling, however, Dean releases his sac and moves his mouth back to Sam's shaft. Running his tongue along the silky hardness to the tip, Dean takes him into his mouth again and sinks down very slowly.

As he pulls back, Dean lightly – and accidentally – grazes his teeth along Sam's skin, close to the sensitive ridge. Sam bucks hard against Dean's mouth, eliciting a throaty groan.

"Fuck, Dean," he says roughly, "if you do that again, this is gonna be over way too soon."

Dean pulls his mouth away and leans up and in to Sam's body. "Thanks for the advice," he replies with a smile.

Reacting to that predatory smile, Sam takes another calming breath and tries the sitting up thing again, leaning back on his arms. He looks down at Dean. "God, you should see how completely fuckable you look right now," he says, taking deliberate, deep breaths.

The smile morphs into a cocky smirk and, at this moment, Sam wouldn't be surprised to see Dean lick his lips at the thought.

"Fuckable, huh?" Dean moves his hand again and Sam feels the metal of Dean's ring sliding up his sensitive flesh. At Sam's intake of breath, he continues, speaking softly. "You wanna fuck me, Sammy? You wanna be inside me?" Dean, now knowing how this talk affects Sam, pushes him further. "Talk to me, baby brother; tell me what you want to do to me with this." He punctuates his meaning with his hand, stroking Sam harder now.

"Ooh, Dean," Sam manages, fighting to keep his eyes open as he wraps his fingers around Dean's upper arm. "God, that's so good."

With his free hand, Dean cups Sam's chin to look into his eyes. "Tell me, baby; come on."

"I can't…god, my brain can't function properly while you're doing that."

"Don't tell me what you think; tell me what you feel."

Sam can't help smiling. "You wanna talk about my feelings? Okay, what have you done with Dean?"

"I'm not possessed, Sammy," he replies, kneeling up and kissing Sam's tattoo. "I may not be Dr Phil, but when it comes to _sexual_ feelings, I'm your man," he says lightly.

"You sure are," Sam answers.

"Quit stalling; tell me."

Sam looks at Dean and something in his brother's expression slowly wipes the teasing smile from his face. "I want to do things to you that I can't while you still have your stitches."

"Like what, specifically?" Dean asks, not easing his firm grip on Sam's shaft.

"Specifically? I want to get you on your hands and knees and spread you open with my tongue." Sam stops and leans his head back as Dean responds to those words by flattening his tongue and slowly licking around the ridge of Sam's straining cock. "Then," he continues after a deep breath, "when you're fucking yourself on my fingers, I want to hear you begging me to shove my cock deep in your ass and fuck you 'til you can barely walk. I want to hear your filthy mouth as you ride my cock."

Dean reacts again to Sam's graphic words, and moves his hand to the base of Sam's cock while he runs his tongue all around his length, wetting him thoroughly to slick the way. Opening his mouth around the girth of his not-so-little brother, he slides down slowly, enveloping Sam in wet heat. He takes as much of Sam as he can, and then starts to pull back, very slowly, humming a moan as he does so.

"Oh, fucking Jesus, Dean!" Still leaning back, Sam braces himself on one hand as his other rests on Dean's head. As Dean uses his tongue to trace the prominent vein on the underside of Sam's cock, while still pulling his lips back to the tip, Sam resists temptation to thrust his hips.

When Dean releases him, Sam looks into his eyes and notices the sexy smile on those beautiful lips. He also – belatedly – notices that Dean is slowly stroking his own dick. "God, Dean, let me help you with that."

Dean shakes his head, his smile still pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You first, Sammy."

Sam gives him an 'are you sure?' look, raising one eyebrow, and Dean responds with a slight nod and a small smile.

With that, Dean decides to end the tease and lowers his head to lick Sam from under his balls to the tip of his dick, flattening his tongue to caress his way up, slowly, and pressing firmly enough to encourage a reaction in Sam. He actually manages to smile as Sam doesn't disappoint, thrusting against his mouth to increase the sensation. At the head, he swirls his tongue across the slit, collecting the bead of come that has formed there, and then goes after the bead that has already dripped onto Sam's abs, sucking that off his skin.

Only relenting for a moment, Dean looks up into his eyes. "I'm gonna make you come so hard, Sammy." He lets that sink in before lowering his voice and adding, "On your back."

Sam groans at Dean's voice as much as his words, and obeys without question. Immediately, he feels Dean's hands on the inside of his thighs, and lets out a rumbled moan as his legs are lifted off the bed and spread wider at the same time. It's a vulnerable position and, if it were anyone but Dean, he would feel hesitant; but he doesn't; he just wants more.

Having Sam so open in front of his face sends a jolt of electricity straight down to Dean's painfully hard cock. Holding Sam at the back of his thighs, he takes full advantage of the situation and gives Sam's hole an experimental lick.

"Oh FUCK, Dean! Shit! Oh my god."

"Like that, Sammy?"

"Jesus, do that again."

Dean does it again, but not before noticing that Sam has relaxed his muscle in eager anticipation. "Goddamnit, Sam, I want your ass so bad," he says roughly. He follows up that statement with his tongue against his little brother's opening, this time exploring a little more thoroughly.

Sam writhes on the bed, trying to thrust his ass against Dean's tongue. "Dean…just…" but he can't seem to form the words to finish that thought.

Dean knows that Sam needs to come, so he plays his 'awesome brother' card, and lowers Sam onto the bed. Dean kisses and licks his way up the length of Sam, swirling his tongue around the contradiction of hard organ and soft flesh. "Come on, baby," Dean coaxes, grasping Sam, "I wanna hear you; I need some encouragement."

"God, Dean," Sam forces out, "you…you don't need encouragement; you're a…fuckin' natural."

A brief smirk lights Dean's face, before he wraps his lips around Sam's cock-head, opens his mouth, and sinks his head down, swallowing as much of Sam as he can. Dean stops and relaxes his mouth and jaw, and takes him further down.

Sam grabs handfuls of bedspread and holds on for dear life, desperately trying not to buck up into Dean's mouth and choke him. "Jesus fuck…oh yeah, baby…so good. Ohh, Dean…" Just as Sam thinks that's just about it for verbal communication, Dean pulls his mouth back, slowly, and then takes him down again, a little faster, a little surer. Sam's string of verbal encouragement, this time, is less intelligible.

With one hand around the base of Sam, and the other moving to fondle Sam's balls, Dean slowly starts to bob his head, occasionally locking his lips around the ridge of his little brother's dick and sucking. After a minute, he starts to move his hand in rhythm to his mouth, stroking up as he pulls his lips back, and back down, his mouth following. Dean's own hard-on strains almost painfully between his legs, and he can't help thrusting forward as his actions cause the occasional contact with the bed.

"Dean…oh god, Dean…"

Sam tries to warn Dean that he's about to come, in case Dean doesn't want to swallow his load, but Dean can already feel the tightening of Sam's balls and realises that he wants to taste Sam; he's actually hungry for it. Moving his hand from Sam's inner thigh, he slides his palm to Sam's hip and squeezes gently, telling him it's okay.

Sam covers Dean's hand with his own and holds him there as he feels himself teetering on the edge.

When Sam's whole body draws taught, Dean pulls back a little so he doesn't choke, and feels as Sam thrusts once and lets go, pumping his seed into Dean's mouth. From the first spurt on his tongue, Dean surprises himself as he not only swallows his brother's come, he also drinks him, sucking him harder and milking him. Sam's loud, desperate groans continue to spur him on until he knows that Sam has nothing left, and he starts to ease back, licking the underside of his cock as he pulls away. Dean replaces his mouth with his hand and gently strokes Sam, calming him, much like if he were a frightened horse. Looking up at Sam, he smiles as he sees one wrecked little brother.

After a minute, Sam's breathing has returned to semi-regular, and he opens his eyes as he feels the mattress dip next to him. Turning his head, he sees Dean's smile, and feels a silly smile threatening at the corners of his mouth. He chuckles, instead, shaking his head slightly. "Fuuck, Dean," he says, letting Dean hear the feeling behind those words.

Dean grins and moves – cautiously – to straddle Sam's thighs, his hands supporting him on either side of Sam's arms so he doesn't aggravate his stitches. Speaking softly, he says, "I've imagined you coming apart for me in every different way. I gotta tell you, though, Sammy…it was never as sweet as that."


	11. Chapter 9

**28 June 2010: This is not an update. If you're linked to a 'Story Alert', sorry to get your hopes up; I've just changed a couple (or 50) of words.**

Sam gives Dean a self-satisfied smirk but moves his head away as Dean attempts to kiss him. "Do me a favour?" Sam asks as his head rests on the mattress again.

"What?"

"Brush your teeth or something."

Dean opens his mouth, ready to take offence, when he sees Sam's eyebrow rise meaningfully, along with a hint of a smile. "Oh. Yeah, okay." He disappears into the bathroom next door and returns a long minute later, wiping his mouth with a hand towel. Smacking his lips, he declares, "Minty fresh," with a smile.

Sam returns the smile. "Bring the baby oil."

Dean's eyebrows rise as one corner of his mouth quirks. "What you got in mind, baby brother?"

"Just do it," Sam replies with a smile and a slightly calculating look in his eye.

Dean climbs off Sam's legs and then off the bed to retrieve the bottle. As he turns back, he notices that Sam has moved up the bed 'til he's sitting; leaning back against the wall.

When Dean is back within grabbing distance, Sam grasps his wrist and pulls him onto the bed to sit down in between Sam's spread legs.

Dean lets himself be manhandled and leans against Sam's chest with a sigh.

Sam kisses Dean's neck and shoulder, and then brings his hands in front of Dean's chest as he pops the lid of the baby oil and squeezes a small amount onto his palm. Sam's actions are deliberate; he wants Dean to see his hands and the oil, to make him squirm (literally or figuratively; either is fine) in eager anticipation. A tease. He knows without looking at Dean's face that his brother's eyes are glued to his hands as he drops the bottle to slick his fingers.

After a few moments, Sam starts to move his hands down Dean's flanks, lifting one hand to miss his wound. Sam finds his prize moments later, and strokes his new lover's cock, casually running his fingers from the base to the head, briefly massaging and rubbing his thumb across the tip, before reversing his actions. Being in control of Dean's pleasure is all the inspiration Sam's dick needs, and he closes his eyes briefly as he feels it swelling again.

Dean's hands move behind him to lightly grip the top of Sam's thighs, even as he pushes his head back against Sam's shoulder, breathing heavily. "More, Sam. Tighter."

Sam obliges, and his hand becomes more demanding, pulling up to the ridge and over, and then down again. After repeating that move another couple of times, Sam goes lower, cupping and squeezing his balls, and watches as Dean moves one leg to rest over his, opening his legs to give Sam more access. Sam's touch briefly returns to light, almost teasing, before moving his other hand - previously resting on Dean's hip - to his brother's chest, exploring his hard and responsive nipples. He delights in Dean's hitched breath and slightly arched back as he plays with them both. Sam grips and squeezes a little more as he continues stroking him, now handling Dean the way he likes, judging from his non-verbal responses. Every so often, Sam releases him, admiring the way Dean's cock lies hard and proud against his stomach, and runs the tips of his fingers along the vein on the underside of his shaft.

Hearing Dean release a drawn out groan makes Sam harder, and he responds by licking and kissing Dean's exposed neck and shoulder. "I like having you at my mercy," he whispers into Dean's ear.

Dean smiles and closes his eyes. "I'm all yours, baby," he replies soft and low. His hands move to run down the outside of Sam's thighs, gripping him as the feeling intensifies.

Bending his knees and planting his feet on the bed, on the outside of Sam's legs, Dean lets his legs fall open as he starts to gently rock his hips, effectively pumping his cock into the tight sheath of Sam's hand. Responding to that feeling, as well as the sight, Sam releases his breath on a small moan and, because Dean's ear is close to his mouth, he hears it clearly.

"Uhh, Sammy…god, that's good. Harder."

"You wanna get off like this, Dean?"

Dean takes a moment to think about that.

"Tell me what you want," Sam prods. "Direct me."

With his head against Sam's shoulder, Dean turns to look at him. "Suck me."

"You're so eloquent when you're horny," Sam responds with a smirk. Placing a quick, wet kiss to Dean's jaw, Sam slides out from behind and moves to position himself between Dean's legs.

Dean leans back and moves down the bed a little to lay his head against the pillows.

"If this causes you any pain," Sam says, temporarily serious, and lightly running his fingers down the padding under his ribs, "just say so, and we'll find another way." He waits for Dean's nod of agreement.

Dean is desperate for the grip of Sam's hand around his aching cock, but Sam doesn't seem to be in any hurry, taking the scenic route down Dean's torso. "Saam," he says quietly as his little brother traces his splayed hands up the outside of Dean's thighs, over his hips, and then braces himself on the mattress, either side of Dean's broad chest. With his feet still flat on the bedspread, Dean opens his legs further in obvious invitation, and thrusts up, once, against Sam's stomach.

Sam doesn't respond, knowing that Dean wants to get the show on the road. He's hard and aching and sensitive to the touch, and Sam decides to keep him like that. For a little while. In fact, he has a sudden urge to hear Dean beg and plead to get him off. That last thought sends more blood rushing down to Sam's groin, as if he wasn't hard enough with Dean's prone and eager body underneath him.

Continuing the scenic tour down Dean's body, Sam spends quality time at each tourist spot – pecs, nipples, stomach, navel – until he reaches his ultimate destination, where Dean has pitched an impressive tent. Instead of immediately setting up camp for the night, however, Sam revisits those earlier sites and his tongue and lips have Dean moaning loud enough to wake other campers…if there were any.

"Sam…no more teasing…just…ohhhhhh…" Dean moans and then falls silent as Sam licks the tip of his cock-head, and then attaches his lips over the slit, sucking lightly.

At the first taste of Dean's pre-come, he's hooked. Lifting his head, Sam waits 'til Dean's eyes open and meet his, before licking his lips and giving Dean a smile.

Sam's smile is slight but Dean sees the confidence and sexy intent behind it, and it has him squirming as a result. "Sammy," Dean starts, and is a little surprised at the pleading evident in his voice. "You're killin' me here." When Sam doesn't immediately move, Dean realises what he needs to do; or, rather, say. Eyes locked onto one another, Dean gives Sam what he wants. "Wrap your mouth around me and swallow me down, Sammy."

Sam's smile broadens and, without a word, he lowers his head again to grant that urgent request, but not before one last tease. With his head between Dean's legs, Sam turns his head to one side, licking along the soft skin of Dean's inner thigh. Stopping before his groin, Sam attaches his lips and places a sucking kiss to the spot. As he moves his head to repeat the action on Dean's other thigh, he deliberately blows his breath over Dean's balls, and the gritted '_Jesus_' that is forced from his brother's mouth is all the payment he needs.

"God, Sam, I need…"

"I know," Sam answers, cutting him off. Abandoning the other thigh, Sam moves his body up, briefly, to kiss Dean deeply. Pulling back, he adds, "I gotcha, Dean." With a quick kiss, he slides down Dean's body to put him out of his misery.

Sam's hand envelops the base of Dean's erection, while he lets his tongue slowly familiarise itself with the taste and feel of his brother. Sam's own dick grows impossibly harder at the knowledge that this is another fantasy he thought he'd never experience; something he imagined so many times, but could never have. Dean's groans tell Sam that he's still torturing him, this time unintentionally. As a result, Sam opens his mouth around Dean's hard flesh and takes him in. Remembering the blow jobs he's had in the past and, particularly, the one Dean gave him, he relaxes his mouth and throat and sinks down his shaft, tracing the thick vein with his tongue.

"Oh god Sammy," Dean rumbles, his voice unguarded. "Mmmmyeah…so good." Hissing as he inhales, Dean then lets it out on a breathy moan.

Aroused, almost more so than when their positions were reversed, Sam deep throats him to the base, his nose brushing into Dean's pubic hair. At the same time, his hands wrap under Dean's thighs and grab hold of his hips.

Dean – heroically – stops himself from thrusting further into the tight, wet heat of Sam's mouth. When Sam pulls back, and then sinks down again, dragging his tongue over the vein with a little more pressure, Dean's vocabulary all but leaves him. "Oh fuckfuckfuck…" he groans, closing his eyes. After a few moments, his words partially return. "Jesus, Sammy, I've never been more grateful for your big mouth," he quips.

As Sam becomes more comfortable, he changes his actions slightly, bobbing his head as his lips surround Dean's girth, no longer taking all of him at once. Even as he feels his brother's hand cup the back of his head, Sam slides a hand below his mouth and fondles Dean's balls, before continuing the journey to his ass.

Dean's whimper is so sweet to Sam's ears, and it revs him up beyond belief. Going with the feeling, he pulls his mouth away for a moment, and licks a path over Dean's balls, before looking up. "Your ass belongs to me, Dean," Sam says, speaking softly but precisely, "and, as soon as your stitches are out, my cock is gonna be deep inside that ass, fucking you until you scream my name. You're gonna take all nine inches inside this tight hole," he continues, rubbing a finger over Dean's entrance, "and beg me to make you come."

By this time, Dean is beside himself with need, and lets out a desperate groan as Sam returns to his cock, tonguing around the head, while fisting his shaft roughly. He feels a couple of twinges from his wound as his stomach muscles contract, but he doesn't care; what Sam is making him feel is everything right now.

When Sam feels the warning signs of release, Sam tightens his grip. "Come for me, Dean," Sam orders, looking into his half-closed eyes. "Fill my mouth with your come." Sam quickly attaches his mouth around Dean's cock-head again and sucks.

Those words are the trigger – finally – and Dean thrusts against Sam's mouth, before flying apart, shooting his creamy load into Sam's eager mouth, a low growl preceding each spurt.

Sam greedily sucks him dry, not letting a drop of Dean's seed escape his mouth. Sensing when Dean reaches the point of too-sensitive, Sam releases him and lovingly places a kiss to the softness of each inner thigh, and then stretches himself to slide up the left side of Dean's body. Lying on his side and leaning on his elbow, he fits his body snug against Dean's, and runs his other hand over the dramatic rise and fall of his chest. Sam is content to watch for the moment as Dean's eyes remain closed.

Feeling Sam against him, as well as a hand on his chest, Dean slowly comes down from one of the most powerful orgasms of his life. After a few moments, he turns his head toward Sam and opens his eyes.

"Hey there; welcome back."

Dean manages a huff of a laugh. Then, looking into his little brother's smiling eyes, he asks, "Where'd you learn to do that?" He is a little afraid of the answer.

Sam knows what Dean is asking, and his smile broadens. He taps a finger against his head a couple of times. "Up here. Fantasies can be vivid, Dean."

"Thank God for that," Dean responds, and lifts the arm resting underneath Sam to bring his little brother down for a kiss. With his fast recovery time, his breathing starts to slow and, when Dean breaks the kiss, he is no longer panting. "Shouldn't we be feeling really guilty right about now?"

"Yep."

"So, how come I don't?"

Sam smiles again, happy at Dean's confession. "'Cause this is what we want. It doesn't matter that no one else would understand it; _we _do."

They are silent for a minute, before Sam speaks. "Y'know, as much as I like the taste of you in my mouth, I'm not too crazy about the baby oil." At Dean's chuckle, he continues. "I think, next time, we go for flavoured lube."

"Or body chocolate," Dean adds, helpfully.

Sam smirks. "Even better. But now," he says, sobering slightly, "I'm gonna get in the shower and take care of this." He rolls his hips into Dean's thigh to demonstrate. Before he has a chance to sit up properly, though, Dean pulls him back down.

"No." At Sam's raised eyebrows, Dean elaborates. Speaking slowly, he says, "I want to watch you, right here, flat on your back and looking at me. Jack yourself off." A slow smile teases the corners of Dean's mouth as he watches Sam's eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, as he thinks about it. "Come on, Sammy; it's not like we've never jacked off while the other is in the next bed. This time, though, I'll be watching, instead of just listening."

Sam's unsure smile quickly turns into a smirk. "You used to listen?"

Dean quirks an eyebrow. "And you didn't?"

"Well, yeah, I did," Sam admits. "In fact, on more than one occasion, I've stroked myself while listening to you come."

Dean chuckles. "Me too. I guess we've been getting each other off for years; we just didn't realise it. Whaddaya say? Let me watch you."

Sam looks into Dean's eyes for a moment, before moving to lie flat on his back, keeping eye contact.


	12. Chapter 10

Unexpectedly, Sam gives Dean an unsure look. "Don't laugh, but this is a little weird," he admits, resting a hand across his stomach.

Dean gives Sam a warm smile in return. "So, you're okay with sucking your brother off, but _this_ is weird?"

Sam chuckles and looks down.

Lowering his voice slightly in encouragement, Dean says, "Don't think, just feel." Moving onto his side and leaning on his elbow, his other hand traces the well-defined muscles down Sam's chest and stomach, over Sam's hand, and lower. "Feel my hand, Sammy; feels good, doesn't it." As he speaks, his fingers wrap around the taut flesh of Sam's sensitive cock.

"Feels amazing," Sam manages, as his eyes close of their own accord. He opens them again, though, when he feels Dean's breath against his ear.

Speaking slowly, Dean instructs him. "I'm gonna take my hand away, and I want you to replace it with your own. I want you to stroke yourself while thinking about what you're gonna do to me once my stitches come out. All of those sexy, dirty things you want to do to your hard and eager big brother."

Dean moves his head back and can see that his words are having an effect on Sam. Leaning in again, he takes Sam's mouth in a deep, unhurried kiss, slowly stroking Sam's tongue with his own to mirror his hand. A moment later, he feels Sam's left hand close lightly around his own, and guides their hands up to the head before Dean slides off. "That's it, baby," he whispers, breaking the kiss briefly. His lips return a second later, providing further encouragement, and Sam's other hand moves into Dean's hair to bring him closer.

The sound of the front door banging shut freezes them both. "Shit," Dean says, at the same time as Sam's "Jesus."

Dean briefly rests his head against Sam's shoulder before taking a breath and releasing a heavy sigh. Rolling to the side of the bed, he reluctantly gets to his feet. Their eyes meet for a moment before Dean shakes his head slightly. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry." He watches as Sam sits up and moves to the edge of the bed. He assumes that the look on Sam's face must mirror his own. "Okay, I'm gonna go downstairs. You get in the shower." Snagging his boxers and jeans from a few feet away, he starts to dress.

As Dean sits on the bed and pulls on his boots, Sam gets to his feet and walks towards the door, when Dean stops him.

"Come 'ere," Dean says softly, and stands in front of Sam. Running his hands down over Sam's hips, he brings them closer for a moment. "If you go downstairs with a hard-on, Bobby will be suspicious, so take care of it. Be thorough, Sammy, but try not to yell my name too loud." And then, with a smirk and a quick kiss, Dean steps back and casually bends over to pick up his t-shirt on his way out the door.

For the rest of the day, Dean helps Bobby out with a couple of cars in the yard, while Sam gets stuck into research, not coming up for air until he smells onions frying. He stretches and makes his way into the kitchen, to find Bobby cooking. "Need a hand?" Sam asks.

"Nah. You can tell your brother that dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes, though."

"Okay." Sam takes an appreciative sniff at the air before walking outside and around the house. He follows the sound of the radio to where Dean is leaning over the side of a blue and white, beat up, '65 Mustang, reaching under the hood.

Dean hears footsteps behind him. "Sweet, isn't she?" He says, standing up and reaching for the cloth on the front fender.

"All I see is the shell of an old, wrecked car that would've looked good forty years ago," Sam answers, stepping up behind Dean and casually resting his chin on Dean's shoulder to look at the car.

Dean takes a breath at their close proximity. "You gotta have a little imagination, Sam."

Sam deepens his voice slightly, and smiles. "Oh, I've got a very good imagination. In fact, I was just thinking of doing some very imaginative things to _you_."

Dean smiles, which turns into a grin. Turning his head to the side to look at Sam, he says, "Oh yeah? You wanna share?"

"Hmmm…better not. Talking leads to doing, and we don't have time. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes."

Dean sighs. "Okay, but I wanna hear about these imaginative things later."

The corner of Sam's mouth twitches. "Deal."

"Now, let me get back to work."

Sam smiles. "Yes, dear," he says sweetly. At Dean's backward glance, Sam chuckles and smacks Dean's butt before turning and walking back to the house.

Dean smiles at Sam's playfulness and focuses back on the Mustang.

It has just gone 11:30pm when Sam says goodnight to Bobby after his fifth yawn in as many minutes. He heads up the stairs and has a quick shower. Just as he is reaching for a clean pair of boxers, he smirks to himself and leaves them off, slipping naked into bed, and enjoying the feel of the clean sheets against his skin. He can't remember the last time he went to bed naked. Years on the road with Dean meant close quarters, and – unavoidably – seeing each other naked occasionally, while also retaining a shred of modesty when they were together, and they were always together. Now, though…now they didn't need to be modest with each other, and the simple feeling of freedom that evokes is the inspiration for the smirk.

Half an hour later, Dean opens the door and walks in, wearing a towel and carrying his clothes, all while rubbing a smaller towel through his hair. He keeps the door open as he walks over to his own bed, the light from the hallway spilling into the room to show the way. Dean sits down on the mattress, facing Sam, and looks at his sleeping form for a moment, before drying off and stepping into his boxers. Turning his head to pull back the sheet and blanket, he doesn't see Sam open his eyes.

"Dean," Sam whispers, turning his head on the pillow.

Dean turns his head back. "Hey," he says, whispering back, "thought you were out."

"Close. Come sleep with me." He can just see Dean's raised eyebrows in the partial light. "Close the door and get in here." When Dean doesn't immediately move, Sam adds, "Bobby's not gonna know which bed we sleep in."

Dean gives Sam a hint of a smile before getting up and walking across the room to close the door. Moving back to the bed in the dark, he feels his way around the mattress and crawls in. Lying on his back, he sighs deeply as he gets comfortable. A moment later, he feels Sam turn on his side and lean his head up against Dean's shoulder. He lifts his arm and Sam takes advantage, snuggling in closer. "Comfy?" Dean asks, with amusement in his voice.

"Yep."

When Sam moves again, Dean quickly realises something. "Sammy?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're naked."

Sam smiles. "Yes, Detective."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Did you plan this?"

"What…did I plan to get you in my bed to seduce you?" He stifles a laugh but his amusement is still clear in his voice. "No."

"Oh."

Sam opens his eyes and lifts his head, reaching behind him to switch the lamp on. "Was that a touch of disappointment I heard in your voice?"

"No," Dean answers quickly. "Well," he adds a moment later, "I dunno…maybe."

Chuckling, Sam kisses Dean's shoulder. "If it's too _big _a distraction to _handle_; if it's making it _hard_ for you to get to sleep, just tell me and I'll turn over."

Now it's Dean's turn to chuckle. "It won't matter if you turn over, your ass is every bit as distracting."

Sam presses his face into Dean's chest to muffle his laugh. A moment later he feels and hears Dean's yawn. Smiling, he lifts his head and leans on his elbow. "No seduction for you tonight." Immediately responding before Dean can express his mock protest, Sam adds, "We've got plenty of time."

Dean drops the act and nods seriously. "Yeah." Then, after a breath, his eyes twinkle. "I still want you to tell me about those imaginative things you were thinking earlier, though."

"Tomorrow," Sam replies softly, turning Dean's head away and nuzzling underneath his jawline before resting his head back on Dean's chest. "Dean?"

"I'm still here."

"You don't think Bobby suspects anything, do you? I mean he didn't say anything earlier, did he?"

"No. He has no reason to be suspicious. You're just being paranoid."

Sam's mouth quirks. "Okay. Night."

"Night, Sasquatch."

Sam's retaliatory pinch to his brother's nipple, and Dean's huff of amusement, is the end of the discussion.


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel appears – silently, as always – in the doorway between the library and kitchen and witnesses Dean and Sam kissing. His bland expression doesn't change as he debates whether he is required to wait for them to separate before alerting them to his presence. When Sam's arm wraps behind Dean and his hand rests on the curve of Dean's back, however, he assumes that they may be there a while.

"Should I come back later?" He asks in his usual monotone.

Dean and Sam instantly separate, like opposing – guilty – magnets. Looking over his shoulder as he turns, Dean doesn't know whether to be annoyed or nervous that they were caught. This time, nervousness wins.

Even before Dean can attempt to deny the obvious, Castiel speaks again. "Relax, Dean, I am not bound by human prejudice." He looks at them both and adds, "In fact, some would say the union is a logical one, given the unusual circumstances of your lives."

Sam seems to recover his surprise first and moves from behind Dean to face Castiel. "Cas, Bobby doesn't know, and he _is_ bound by human prejudice. Can we keep it between us?"

"Bobby already knows."

That statement throws them. "What?" They say at the same time, and a little louder than necessary.

"Bobby knows that you are lovers."

"How?" Dean asks, his face having already paled.

"You will have to ask him."

Dean turns to Sam with a look of quiet dread, which is returned in spades. Then, he takes a deep breath and looks back at Castiel. "Why are you here? What's going on?"

"Bobby has requested my assistance."

"For what?"

"Back up," he replies simply.

Dean's eyebrows rise. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know. Where's Bobby?"

"Out back."

Castiel's subsequent vanishing act leaves Sam and Dean to focus on one thing.

"Bobby knows," Dean says softly as he leans against the kitchen table.

"How?" Sam asks, frowning, not expecting an answer. "We were careful and…discreet. Or so we thought."

Dean rubs a hand across his face and sighs. "I guess we'll just have to talk to him and find out what he knows." Shaking his head slightly, he adds, "And_ that's_ gonna be a fun conversation." Dean looks up at Sam and his apprehensive expression. "No time like the present, right?"

As Dean pushes up from the table, they hear Bobby and Castiel coming in through the front door, and they walk into the library.

Looking to Dean before taking a deep breath, Sam broaches the subject. "Bobby, Cas told us that you know about Dean and me." There is silence while the boys wait for a response.

After a look to Castiel that even the angel translates as 'thanks for nothing', Bobby makes his way to his desk, feeling expectant eyes on him but not looking up. He still needs some time to process the whole situation. After a moment, Bobby's only reply is an affirmative, "Mmhmm."

Turning to look at each other briefly, Dean gives Sam an 'I don't know' shrug with a rise of his eyebrows.

Sam looks back to Bobby. "And?" He prods, wanting anything but the awkward silence.

"And it's none of my business; I'm not your father," he adds softly. Focusing on the paperwork in front of him, he doesn't see the affect his words have.

When he _does_ raise his eyes, he's all business. "You boys feel up to a job?"

Knowing that they can't force Bobby to talk about it, Sam frowns but lets it go; for now. "What kind of job? 'Cause Dean's still recovering..."

Dean turns his head and looks at Sam. "I keep telling you, I'm not an invalid."

"It's an easy one; Dean doesn't have to worry about his stitches."

"It's Sam who's worrying about my stitches, not me."

"Whatever," Bobby says, dismissing the brotherly argument. "A fellow hunter has had a run in with a witch and she's cursed him and his wife. I need you to stay here with them while Castiel and I have a little talk with the witch."

"A talk?" Sam asks. "Since when does talking to a witch help?"

"I need to know what kind of curse it is so we can reverse it."

"So that's what yesterday's research was all about," Sam says.

"Yep. So I'll tell him to come over tomorrow and we'll go from there. You just need to keep an eye on them and make sure nothing happens. Okay?" He adds, looking at each of them.

Dean shrugs. "Okay," he says slowly. "Cas mentioned you needed him as back up. What have you got in mind?"

"Nothing special," Bobby says casually. "Just gonna have a talk; maybe throw in a verbal threat or two about all the hunters I know who owe me a favour; just to loosen her tongue. Cas is just there in case we need to make a hasty exit. I'm not expecting anything to happen, but better safe than sorry. Until then," he adds, moving on, "how 'bout you two make yourselves useful and go and get take-out for dinner, since there's next to nothing in the fridge."

"Uh, okay," Dean answers. "What do you want?"

Bobby opens the middle drawer and pulls out a menu. "Buffalo Wild Wings."

"I'm shocked," Dean replies with a healthy dose of sarcasm.


	14. Chapter 14

A sharp knocking on the front door rouses Dean to consciousness and he gradually opens his eyes halfway. Their bedroom window faces east but the chipboard covering the panes blocks most of the light into the room. He reaches over to the makeshift bedside table - a chair in between the beds - and picks up his watch. Squinting, it takes him a couple of seconds before he can make out the time.

Sam feels Dean move and, in response, turns onto his side and wraps his arm around Dean's to stop him escaping. "Don't get up," he murmurs into the pillow.

Dean smiles as he looks at Sam sharing his pillow. "I was just finding out what the time was."

"What _is_ the time? And was someone knocking on the front door?" Comes the muffled enquiry.

"Seven forty, and yes."

A few moments later: "Dean! Sam! Get your asses down here!"

Sam groans in protest but they follow orders and get up.

Walking into the kitchen minutes later, they see Bobby with two people.

"Boys, meet Paul and Leanne Singleton. This is Sam and Dean Winchester," Bobby says, introducing them all.

"Pleased to meet you," Leanne says, while Paul steps forward to shake their hands.

"Likewise," Dean answers. As he looks between Bobby and Paul, he asks, "So, do you want to fill us in on what kind of trouble you've been having?"

Dean listens to Paul while he makes his way to the coffee pot. Reaching for a mug, he holds it up to Sam and raises his eyebrows. Sam's nod has Dean reaching for another.

After a brief run-down, Paul adds, "I was obviously getting too close, asking too many questions, so she decided to give me something else to focus on."

"Like?" Sam asks.

"Well, it started with Leanne's mystery illness, and then money started disappearing from our account. One day, I was driving Leanne to the doctor, and something just took control of the car; I couldn't steer. We ended up in a ditch, just ten feet away from a concrete bridge pylon." Paul takes Leanne's hand in his as he continues, but in a softer voice. "And then yesterday, we got home and found our dog on the front step, dead, with two effigies leaning against the door, both burnt."

Dean and Sam are silent for a couple of moments.

"How long has this been going on?" Sam asks, looking at Paul.

"About a month. These things weren't happening all the time; sometimes we'd go a week without anything happening. And then, when I realised who was behind it, I went to see her and said that if she left us alone, I'd leave _her_ alone. But she said it was too late to bargain now. I don't even know what kind of spell it is, so I don't know how to reverse it." He looks across the room. "That's when I called Bobby."

"Alright," Bobby jumps in, looking at Paul and Leanne, "we'll have breakfast and then I'll leave you in capable hands while I have a word to her."

Bobby returns to the house within two hours, finding four expectant faces waiting in the library.

"How did it go?" Dean is the first to ask.

"Well, I got the info we needed, and without losing any bodily fluids, so I'd say it was a success."

"How do we reverse this?" Paul asks.

Moving around behind his desk, Bobby's view of Paul becomes obscured by Dean. "Get your ass off my desk," he says shortly. He doesn't see the brief quirk of Dean's mouth. Bobby then continues. "She said that if you and Leanne are within a certain distance of each other - a thousand miles to be exact - you'll continue to have bad luck. Not only that, but the luck will worsen until one of you dies, by which time the spell will have been fulfilled and will automatically disolve. Alternatively, if you two are further than a thousand miles from each other, the spell is broken. So, we need to separate you."

There is silence for a few moments as they absorb the information.

All eyes drift to the Singletons as Paul and Leanne look at each other. Their expressions show a resigned acceptance, prepared to do what it takes.

With a sigh, Paul makes the decision. "How do you want to do this, Bobby?"

"I want Dean to get Leanne out of here and not stop until they're over a thousand miles away," he says, his eyes settling on Dean. He then shifts his attention back to Leanne and Paul. "Paul, I want you to stay here until this thing's over, so we can keep an eye on you. How 'bout you both go home, pack a bag, and meet us back here by..." He looks at his watch and then back to Leanne. "Three. Dean'll get you on the road this afternoon."

Dean stays quiet until after Paul and Leanne leave. "You planning on keeping Sam here with you?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah."

"Mind telling me why?" Dean asks reasonably.

Bobby lets his frustration show. "Well, apart from the fact that you are two of the best hunters I know, and it makes sense to have one of you at either end of this thing, I think you could both do with a little time apart."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asks, trying not to get defensive.

Bobby takes a breath. "It means that you need the time to put your..." he searches for the right word, and comes up empty... "_relationship_ into perspective."

In the second it takes for Sam to open his mouth, fully intending to defend that relationship, Dean has turned him by the shoulders and is leading him towards the door.

"Dean," Sam says, a little annoyed at being ushered outside, but not resisting.

Dean doesn't respond. He knows that Sam will turn right around if he doesn't push his little brother all the way to the salvage yard next door, so he does just that.

Sam stops as he rounds the first car and leans heavily against the passenger door, sighing in frustration.

"Just give him time, Sam," Dean says softly, and a little sadly, leaning back against the car and gently pushing into Sam's arm. It wasn't a screaming argument, and the conversation was over before it began, but it left an impression.

Raising his head, he looks at Dean and decides not to pursue it. He takes a breath and exhales noisily. "Yeah, okay," he responds finally, trying to let it go. They are silent with their thoughts for a moment before Sam sighs again. "I guess we should get on the laptop and figure out where you're heading, so you know exactly when you're over the thousand-mile marker."

Dean nods. "Yeah, that'll help." He looks at Sam with sympathy. "C'mon," he says with a tilt of the head.

Walking into their room - having bypassed the library for the moment - Dean pulls off his shoes. "I'm gonna have a quick shower. Then we can find out where I'm going."

Thirty minutes and a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches later, Dean has settled on his destination. He lays back on Sam's - their - bed and closes his eyes. After about a minute of silence, Dean opens his eyes and looks up at Sam, sitting next to him. "What?" He asks, frowning slightly as he sees Sam deep in thought.

Sam looks down. "If Bobby can't learn to accept us..." He trails off, realising he doesn't know how to end that sentence. He doesn't want to acknowledge the possibility. His gaze drops from Dean's and he focuses, instead, on Dean's hands, clasped over his stomach.

"It's a lot for anyone to take in, Sam, especially someone who's essentially been a father to us both. He'll be okay." _Don't make it a lie, Bobby_, he adds to himself. Dean moves to lie across the bed, resting his head on Sam's thigh. "Promise me you won't give Bobby a hard time while I'm gone. It won't help."

Sam slides his hand across Dean's chest, over the soft, well-worn fabric of his top, and nods. "Yeah," he answers softly.

Dean closes his eyes again, enjoying Sam's touch.

"Hey, don't go to sleep on me; they'll be here soon."

Sighing, Dean opens his eyes and, after a moment, sits up. Then, turning to Sam, he moves slowly to straddle his brother's legs. "I guess we should say our goodbyes now, then." Watching Sam's half-hearted smile, he pins Sam's forearms as he leans in for a long, slow kiss. Moments later, as Dean releases one of Sam's arms to cradle the back of his head, Sam moves and, suddenly, their arms are wrapped around each other.

Sam pulls Dean closer and groans as that results in a rocking motion against each other. Soon after, he reluctantly breaks the kiss and looks into Dean's unfocused eyes. The sight makes him smile. "How are your stitches?" He asks in a whisper.

It takes Dean a second to respond. "I'll say it again, Sammy...what stitches?" He follows the comment with a lazy smile.

Sam's smile matches Dean's before he lightly places his hand over the padding. "Honestly."

"Honestly, they're fine. This," he adds, resting his hand over Sam's, "is minor compared to all the other injuries we've had. I don't even know if it makes it into the top ten."

"Yeah, I know," Sam answers with a small smile.

"I know you know." Then, with a growing smirk, he teases, "You're only worried about them 'cause you wanna do naughty things to me." At Sam's huff of amusement, Dean moves his hand and slides it up Sam's arm, caressing the hard muscles up to Sam's shoulder. From there, it is a short move to the back of his neck as he pulls his little brother to him.

Sam lets himself be pulled closer and their lips meet again. His hands move around Dean, to rest against his shoulder blades, drawing him against his chest, before sliding down to the curve of Dean's lower back. Sam always thought that a woman's lower back was sexy but he quickly realises that Dean leaves them all for dead. The power and the strength, along with the beautiful lines of his brother's body under his hands, has Sam increasing the pressure of his caress down to Dean's waistband, and he moans into the kiss as Dean arches his back.

Dean playfully sucks Sam's bottom lip as he breaks the kiss, and sits back. "C'mon, Sammy, we should get down there," he says with an apologetic smile.

Adjusting their clothes and deeming their lips not too kiss-swollen, Dean picks up his bag and they make their way downstairs.

Presentable as they are, Sam still stands a step behind Dean to hide his obvious arousal.

Dean drops his bag by the front door. He feels Sam behind him and, while they are still out of sight of Bobby, turns on the spot and crowds Sam against the wall. He pushes his palm against the bulge of Sam's crotch and looks into his eyes. "Better stay behind me for a few minutes, Sammy," he says in a whisper. "You could do some damage with that thing."

Sam smiles. "I intend to, but not before you get back."

With a smug smirk, Dean turns and walks into the library, dropping the smile immediately. Approaching Bobby behind the desk, he announces, "I'm gonna take Leanne as far as Flagstaff. That's thirteen hundred miles."

Bobby looks up. "That should do it," he confirms. "You packed?"

"Yeah," he says, just as they hear a car approaching. He turns his head to the window, although he can't see out. "Okay, may as well get this show on the road."

Bobby follows Dean and Sam out of the door and they meet Paul and Leanne by the Impala. Dean opens the trunk and throws his bag in, and then takes Leanne's bag from Paul. He gives the couple a moment to say goodbye, and then approaches them both. "You about ready to go?" He asks Leanne.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"Okay. Just to let you both know," he starts, speaking to both but looking at Leanne, "the purpose of this road trip is to get you as far apart as possible, as quickly as possible, so we'll be driving all day. We're going to Flagstaff and should be there in forty-eight hours."

Leanne nods and Paul touches her arm to get her attention. "I want you to call me when you've stopped for the night, okay?"

"Promise," she says, cupping his cheek in her hand. Then, with a quick kiss, she steps back and walks around to the passenger door.

"That goes for you, too," Bobby says to Dean.

"Yeah," Dean acknowledges. He gets in the car and Sam comes to lean against the open window. "I'll call you after I talk to Bobby," he says confidentially.

Sam nods and stands up. "See you in a few days." With a tap to the roof, he moves back to Bobby's side.

Dean starts his baby up and, when Leanne gets in and shuts the door, he throws another look at Sam and Bobby, before easing the car over the gravel and out through the gate.


End file.
